


Sometimes He's True

by GarnetSeren



Series: Atomic Anthology [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Commitment, Developing Friendships, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Feels, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Panic Attacks, Parent-Child Relationship, Partners to Lovers, Partnership, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Step-parents, Strangers to Lovers, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-04-23 02:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 27,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetSeren/pseuds/GarnetSeren
Summary: When Deacon first spotted a woman staggering out of a vault everyone thought was derelict, he hadn't a clue the impact she'd have not only on his life, but the future of the entire Commonwealth. But when stories of her exploits started to reach him, he could't help looking into her, and the more he saw, the more he knew they needed her in the Railroad. Of course there was always a risk when bringing someone new into the fold, and although Deacon had never been a betting man, he had a good feeling about her. He knew what the woman was capable of: a formidable foe, yet a steadfast ally. So he took a chance, a leap of faith. He wasn't surprised when she came through for them... for him... but he didn't expect the pique of curiosity that she sparked in him, the need to know more. And although Deacon knew he was more or less placing the future of the Railroad in her hands, he didn't realise he was giving her his heart for safekeeping as well.***Title from the Betty Hutton song: He's a Demon, He's a Devil, He's a Doll.***





	1. Chapter 1

Deacon sauntered through the new HQ and out to where Desdemona was _greeting_ their very high profile... albeit unexpected... guest, as if he hadn't just sprinted all the way from Goodneighbour, in the hopes that his boss wouldn't screw this up and piss off the woman he'd vetting... okay, stalking... for the better part of six months.

Though when he'd first seen a woman stumbling out of one of the old vaults a while back, during one of his many shitty postings as punishment for disobeying orders, Deacon hadn't thought too much of it. Because even though that old vault had been sealed up tight for all of living memory, Vaulties venturing out into the Commonwealth wasn't that big a deal. He'd tailed her for a while, partly out of curiosity and partly out of courtesy; since there must have been a reason for a Vaultie to be wandering around on her own, with only a 10mm and a vaultsuit to her name. But then he'd seen her pistol-whip a Raider, before executing them with a bullet to the temple without even flinching, so Deacon figured she was a damn-sight tougher than she looked and would be fine on her own.

He didn't really think about her again, not about how amazing her figure was in that vaultsuit, or about how she looked more like one of those billboard pin-ups than a real person. But when someone of her description started popping up in more and more random conversations... right down to the perfectly coiffed ginger curls, permanently ruby red lips and ridiculously striking blue eyes... Deacon started to pay attention. He'd first targetted her in Diamond City, disguised as a security guard, when she'd rolled in with non-other than the Commonwealth's most recognisable synth: Nick Valentine. Watching her friendly banter with the old detective had made Deacon think, made him wonder, made him plot. Then he'd heard word of the Minutemen reforming, and who's name should pop up again but 'Nora: the Sole Survivor of Vault 111'. Because although Deacon wasn't a fan of Piper, he did read her rag _and_ had a copy of the Vaultie's story tucked in his back pocket; for research purposes, of course. Next, he'd been a caravan trader in Bunker Hill, watching as she set up trade routes for the new Minutemen settlements. Then he'd been a drifter in Goodneighbour, and not only watched her fall in with the infamous Mayor Hancock, but inexplicably saw her become the embodiment of the Silver Shroud.

After that, a _professional_ fixation had started, which only grew the more and more Deacon heard about the Vaultie and her Minutemen. There were various feats she'd pulled off, that seemed almost too fantastical to be true, and he'd taken the liberty of making a few trips out to her various settlements, the most impressive being Sanctuary. He snooped around, casually brought up the General in passing conversation, trying to get the real dirt on the woman; because all the praise and the hype couldn't be real, right? Wrong! From what he'd been told, everything being said was well earned. Right there and then, Deacon knew they _had_ to have her in the Railroad, and he started upping his game to try and get her to seek them out; because at the rate Desdemona was moving things, he'd never be given the go-head to approach her. So when he'd casually overheard the Vaultie talking to Hancock, and discovered her and Detective Valentine were following the freedom trail, he'd booked it as fast as he could back to HQ; whilst swapping out his disguise to one he'd never used around her before.

“You're having a party. What gives with my invitation?” he asked, announcing his presence.

“Deacon. I need intel. Who is this?” Desdemona demanded, gesturing towards their guest.

“Wow...” he replied; his sarcasm barely hidden, because if he ever needed proof that Des didn't take his reports seriously, that was it. “News flash, boss. This lady is kind of a big deal out there.”

“I'd be flattered... but it sounds like I have a stalker,” the Vaultie countered.

“It's not like that. A lot of people know about you,” he replied, hoping _he_ hadn't somehow pissed her off.

“Me, or the Minuteman General?” she asked, indicating the very distinctive purple coat and tricorn hat.

Deacon nodded in acknowledgement. He knew all about hiding in plain sight, but even he hadn't had the guts to do it quite so... conspicuously as she had. Everywhere she went, people saw the hat and coat, not the person beneath it. He supposed it had been the same with the vaultsuit, something so distinctive caught a person's attention; which also went for her hair and captivating eyes. It's why he'd shaved his own ginger hair off, and wore shades even when he bedded down for the night. Sunglasses would definitely work for her, but maybe a shaved head would be a little drastic, and far too noticeable on a woman as attractive as she was. But maybe he could convince her to style her hair differently, or have a good rotation of hats to wear... but he was getting ahead of himself.

“Seriously Des, you haven't heard of her? She's the leader of the Minutemen, it seems like the whole Commonwealth is flying her flag. They retook The Castle, everyone's talking about it,” he stated, his obvious esteem actually genuine. “And does the Silver Shroud mean anything to you? I heard they took out Sinjin's Gang with only a dog for help. Pretty remarkable, huh?”

“Told you that get up would come back to haunt you, Doll,” the detective chuckled.

“And if that wasn't enough...” Deacon continued, his poker face hiding the grin that wanted to show. “Nick Valentine was in a jam, as usual. But word is a Vaultie bailed him out, and talked their way passed Skinny Malone too, before becoming old Nicky's partner.”

“And you made such a lovely damsel,” the woman grinned at the synth.

“Though my personal favourite, is the fact the Railroad owes you a crate... hell, a truckload... of Nuka-Cola for what you did to Kellogg. He was our public enemy number one,” Deacon concluded, giving the Vaultie a respectful nod.

Now, Deacon wouldn't be the Railroad's top spy if he didn't notice the slight way she stiffened at the mere mention of that bastard's name. It was barely perceptible, and he bet no one else in the room except the detective noticed. But he saw it. The little tensing of her shoulders, the slight rigidity to her smile, before it morphed into a feline smirk.

“Well... it certainly seems like you've done your homework,” she practically purred.

Her tone didn't affect him at all, nope. Not one bit. It was pure coincidence that he was actually glad when Desdemona distracted him, by asking if he vouched for their guest. Granted, he was also kind of annoyed, because had Des not been listening to him recount the woman's exploits? But he gave his affirmative, then took a back seat whilst the boss took a different angle whilst grilling the Vaultie. Why did she want to meet with them? Did she know what a synth was? Would she risk her life for her fellow man, even if they were a synth? Her first answer was simple enough: the first person to ever help her out was a synth, she wanted to return the favour. Her second answer involved at a sideways glance at the detective, a smirk he returned, and a blithe: “You could say that”. The third is what really caught his attentions though. Both the Vaultie and Nick Valentine snorted; hers sounding as if Des had just told the funniest joke in the world, and the detective's sounded like it was sparked from experience. Though considering she'd stormed a Triggerman hideout to rescue him, Deacon supposed it probably was.

“Try talking her out of it,” Nick muttered.

The comment earned him a wink from the Vaultie, and that was Deacon's mind made up. It didn't matter that Desdemona was fobbing her off with a shitty Tourist job, he knew they needed her. Desperately. So when Des ordered him to debrief the woman, Deacon once again let his poker face hide the smile that wanted to form. He couldn't have hoped for a better opening, even if he'd planned for it himself. So he jogged down the cracked stone steps to her level, and broke his first personal rule... no physical contact unless absolutely necessary... by offering his hand. Hers was warm as she shook his, and surprisingly soft considering she'd been out in the Commonwealth for half a year.

“Hope you didn't mind the reception,” he said. “When you tango with the Insititute, you got to be careful when someone new gets on the floor.”

“There was a serious lack of canapés, so I'll have to dock points,” she replied, deadpan.

Once again, Deacon found himself having to hide behind his poker face. What was it about this woman that made him want to smile? Not that it really mattered, since he knew he should be more concerned with how much information she managed to charm out of him. But what was done was done, and on the plus side, she did readily agree to his plan, even with the sketchy details he gave. He supposed he really need to get her to become more suspicious of people, maybe spin her a few tales to teach her a lesson; once his plan all came together, of course. But that was for later. Right then, all Deacon had to do was watch her leave with the detective, whilst _accidentally_ overhearing her say she'd walk Nick back to Diamond City, then head out with 'Fluffy'. Deacon wasn't entirely sure who or what Fluffy was, but he sure as hell hoped it wasn't the viscous hound he'd seen following her about. That thing was the stuff of nightmares.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sole Survivor's look is inspired by Lucille Ball


	2. Chapter 2

After walking back to Diamond City with Nick... and reassuring her partner and closest friend that yes, she'd be alright... Nora collected Fluffy from Piper's before heading to Homeplate. She hadn't a clue what the covert ops was, but she was pretty damn sure she wanted the Minutemen implicated as little as possible. So she stripped from the Generals uniform she often wore, and after hesitating for a few moments, she tugged on some old army fatigues before throwing on the jacket she'd liberated from that bastard Kellogg. If she was going up against the Institute, she wanted to send them a message. Nora brushed out her curls, slicking her hair back in a smart bun, then grabbed several of her favourite pistols and filled several pockets with various ammo, before finally hitting the road again. For once, the trek was surprisingly quiet, and she reached the rendezvous point far earlier than predicted. In all honesty, Nora expected to have to find a place to hunker down and wait, but then she saw a wastelander leaning against a tree smoking. Immediately, she was on high alert, since it was so far away from any settlements, but then she caught sight of a pair of sunglasses.

“Deacon? That you?” she called out, though her hand remained on her .44 pistol.

“Like the disguise?” he greeted. “It's wastelander camo.”

Nora couldn't help huffing a laugh. “Very impressive.”

Deacon gave her a brief run down after that, though she very pointedly did _not_ ask about the 'face swaps'. Instead she followed his lead, and tried not to laugh at the concerned glances he kept giving Fluffy; Nora never understood why everyone seemed wary about her dog, sure he was big and could look after himself, but he was genuinely the softest thing around. But Deacon was intently trying to explain the coded signs the Railroad used, she didn't get a chance to reassure him. Then again, considering how Fluffy dealt with several ferals, Nora suspected Deacon wouldn't believe her assertion the dog was harmless. Still, they met their contact... or 'tourist'... with little issue, and Nora not only managed to charm the guy into giving them some supplies, but also sweet talked him into providing them with a covering fire if they needed it.

However, they decided to go through the back way, hoping to surprise any enemies that still lingered. Once inside the old escape tunnel, Nora made short work of the terminal, and thought she heard Deacon give a low whistle as the security gate swung open. Nora gave him a quick wink, that earned her a small smirk, but after that, it was all business. They kept low and quiet as they quickly pressed forward, taking out any of the old generation synths they came across. However, Nora couldn't help taking a moment at each of the felled Railroad agents they walked by, stopping just long enough to close their eyes. They weren't her people, but they died doing something for the greater good, so the least she could do was give them a little respect. Deacon didn't say anything about it... or anything much at all... until they arrived at their target. To say Nora hadn't expected him to give her a gun that had belonged to one of his fallen comrades, was an understatement, and for a moment she considered refusing. But when Deacon called it a “vote of confidence” she relented, and was honestly pretty touched by the gesture. After that, grabbing the prototype... which was the whole reason for the mission... and getting back out in one piece was fairly straight forward, and although Nora was surprised that Deacon wanted to meet back at the Railroad's headquarters, rather than make the journey together, she just waved him off. She guessed he had his reasons.

Though when she made it back down to the catacombs, Nora discovered Deacon had already gotten there before her. He was talking to Desdemona in the area she'd mentally dubbed 'the reception', and unashamedly took a moment just to admire him. Because he looked _good_ , dressed in a laundered set of lounge wear. Even the bald head didn't detracted from his attractiveness, if anything, it was a vast improvement; especially over the ridiculous pompadour wig she'd first seen him wearing... or knowingly saw him, she supposed. However, Nora refused to dwell on the fact she'd more or less had a stalker for a number of months, because if it was for a cause like the Railroad, she could let it slide. However, she was hard pressed not to outright laugh when she walked closer and heard their conversation.

“And the new girl patched me up, put me on her shoulder, and blasted her way through the rest of the complex. Synths everywhere,” Deacon stated, gesturing excitedly.

“Carrying you the whole time?” Desdemona asked, clearly unimpressed.

“Amazing right?” he agreed.

“That's one word for it,” the Railroad boss sighed, before turning her attention to Nora. “Deacon told me you single handedly secured Carrington's prototype, disabled a minefield, and wiped out a hundred Gen-1s. So is any of that true?”

“Deacon's selling himself short,” Nora replied, smiling disarmingly. “He helped a bit, and of course we had Fluffy with us.”

The dog gave a happy bark and wagged his tail.

Desdemona looked taken-aback. “A full hundred. I... I can't even imagine.”

“See? Just like I said boss,” Deacon drawled, throwing an arm casually over Nora's shoulder. “You'd be insane not to sign her up, Des.”

“You've certainly made an impression on Deacon,” the leader stated. “He's never spoke about, or lied about, anyone so highly before. So welcome to the Railroad, agent. Now we need to know what to call you. Secrecy keeps us alive. Code names are apart of that. So, what's yours?”

“You should go with Charmer, you could talk deathclaw into being a lapdog,” Deacon teased.

Nora chuckled, figuring there was no harm going along with it. “Charmer it is then.”

She wasn't sure why Desdemona gave Deacon a scathing look, but she got the impression it was a regular occurrence for him, since he didn't seem at all surprised. Nora gave him a wink as she walked passed, following the Railroad leader into the actual headquarters; though instead of getting a rundown of the layout... which was possibly a good thing, since the crypt gave her the creeps... Nora was more or less subjected to a whistle-stop meet and greet with the rest of the agents. She liked Glory straight away, and Drummer Boy didn't seem half bad. Tinker Tom was an odd one, but strangely likeable, and the rest were all perfectly nice. However, Carrington was about as pleasant as any doctor she'd met before the bombs, even when she handed over his prototype. But after getting some orders, she was pretty much left to her own devices then. Though since it was too late to safely head back to Goodneighbour or Diamond City, Nora decided to look for Deacon. She found him lounging on a mattress at the back of the crypt, and the moment he spotted her, he sat up and patted the stained material in a clear invitation to join him.

“So what do you think? We're a colourful and arguably insane bunch, but you're stuck with us now,” he said, in place of a greeting. “Speaking of which, if you don't mind a side-kick, let's keep a good thing going and travel together some more.”

“Should I go get my Silver Shroud outfit?” she quipped. “You going to be Manta Man or Grognak? Nick's the Inspector whether he likes it or not.”

“Well in that case, I'll be the Mistress of Mystery. I have the prefect red sequinned dress to pull it off too,” Deacon retorted.

“I'm not even surprised,” Nora replied, deadpan. “But don't they need you here?”

“My job's mainly intel. So the more places I go the better I'm doing it,” he explained. “And you are one big, beautiful distraction. Plenty of opportunities to learn secrets moving around in your shadow.”

“I'm going to focus on the part where you think I'm beautiful, and not the fact you called me fat,” she teased.

Deacon opened his mouth, probably to defend himself or try to backtrack, until he evidentally noticed the smirk she was trying to hide. He chuckled then, before slinging his arm companionably around her shoulders like he'd done before. Not that Nora minded. Hancock was a close friend of hers, who had no sense of personal boundaries, and even Nick turned out to be quite the hugger, once he'd accepted she genuinely wasn't afraid of him.

“So what d'ya say? Just you, me and the open road,” Deacon asked.

Nora made a show of giving a thoughtful hum, before reaching up to light pat his clean shaven cheek. “You're pretty easy on the eyes, so I'll guess I'll keep you around... if you think you can keep up.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Deacon had already known Charmer was something special... after all, he wouldn't have tailed her for so long if she wasn't... but he couldn't deny he was impressed with the way she'd handled Carrington's mission. She'd certainly won over Old Man Stockton far quicker than anyone else at HQ, himself included. She'd immediately got the hand of speaking covertly, she'd been sweet and welcoming to H2-22 who'd looked at her with starry eyes ever since, and she'd remembered the passcode and counter sign without prompting. Not only that, but Charmer had made it abundantly clear that he and High Rise were more or less spectators, as they moved H2 to Ticonderoga safehouse. She'd taken out every enemy they'd come across, quickly and silently with the Deliverer pistol he'd given her; and no, Deacon was not affected by the fact she was using that weapon in particular, during her first official mission for the Railroad. Nope. Not at all.

However, that warm feeling that _hadn't_ been settling in his chest, vanished completely as they hunkered down in Ticonderoga for the night. There was just something about seeing Charmer relaxing on a sofa, with High Rise's arm casually thrown across the back, almost around her shoulders... well, it _didn't_ stir something in Deacon's gut. It didn't make him frown behind his shades, as he watched how easily the pair chatted, how they flirted. It didn't make him chain smoke half his packet of cigarettes, when he watched them leave the common room, together. And if it did... well, it was only because it was dangerous for agents to get too attached to one another, which as Charmer's partner, it was his job to remind her. He wouldn't be an ass about it, but he definitely needed to discourage her from seeing High Rise again. For professional reasons. But in the cold light of morning, just as Deacon was about to broach the topic with her... after she'd naturally given H2 a farewell hug, because she was just too damn sweet... the words got stuck in his throat. She looked so disarmingly cute, with her ginger hair piled up high in a messy bun, that he actually gave Charmer and High Rise a moment alone before they left. Though naturally, he lingered nearby, pretending he was casually having a smoke and not watching them out the corner of his eye. But instead of some lingering kiss like he expected, the two just gave each other a friendly hug, though he overheard Charmer say she'd: “ask Des about what we spoke about”, before High Rise bid them both farewell.

“So... what was that all about?” Deacon pried, plastering a grin on his face as they set off. “Looking for reassignment already? I'm hurt.”

“Are you always so nosy... wait, don't answer that,” Charmer chuckled. “But don't worry, you haven't driven me off with your awful marksmanship... yet. We were discussing the possibility of diverting some of the Minutemen resources through our mutual friend, so the safehouses have some additional supplies to fall back on if there's ever another incident.” Like the Switchboard went very loudly unsaid.

He bumped shoulder's with her, a faux pout on his lips. “ _That's_ what you got up to last night? Man... I thought there'd be some juicy gossip to wheedle out of you this morning.”

“Wheedling implies I wouldn't outright answer if you asked,” she smirked, slyly. “Besides, that conversation came after...”

“Well, that's some kinky pillow talk right there.”

Charmer outright laughed, though took a moment to answer, since she paused just long enough to silently shoot two raiders that had come into view. Deacon couldn't help admire her efficiency and accuracy; in all honesty, it was a little terrifying... in a good way... how good she was with her pistols. Her prowess was actually kinda hot. To other guys, Deacon imagined. Not him. No. He wasn't affected. Nope. Not at all. He was just professionally impressed with her skills; nothing more, nothing less.

“What did you think it'd be? All basking in the after glow together? Who'd have thought you were such a closet romantic,” she teased.

“I'll have you know I'm a very soft and sensitive soul,” he replied, resting his hand over his heart for effect.

“Uh-huh. I can tell you're so shy and retiring too,” she retorted. “But seriously, what can you expect? It was just two potential friends scratching a mutual itch.”

“He's a handsome guy though,” Deacon pointed out, for reasons beyond him. “And you're pretty candid about this. I thought you pre-war types were all...”

“Stuck up?” Charmer finished for him, grinning. “Plenty were, I guess, but I never saw the point. Sex is hardly a taboo subject when it's between consenting adults... and yeah, he _is_ very good looking. But that gives the impression that I haven't slept with other handsome men.”

He huffed a laugh. “I meant after you thawed out, you vault-cicle.”

“So did I...” she replied, her tone taking on a sultry edge.

Deacon almost stopped in his tracks... almost, he was far too aware of his surroundings to make such a rookie mistake. But he'd been tailing her for six months, so how they hell had he missed her hooking up with people? Deacon was the best agent there was, he didn't miss a trick, so it was professional pride that had him asking:

“Who?!”

“A lady never kisses and tells,” she replied, shockingly demurely.

“But you're no lady,” he retorted, grinning.

“Touché,” Charmer smirked. “Though I'm curious. Why do you want to know?”

“So I know who I need to watch out for, in case any jilted lovers think I've seduced you from them.”

“You'll be fine,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. “But since I'm certain you're not going to let this drop unless I tell you... there's been Arturo, Yefim and Sun in Diamond City, and a threesome with Hancock and Magnolia a while back. That was probably the best, but John's such a playboy I think he's slept with half of Goodneighbour. Oh, and now High Rise of course.”

Deacon almost choked on the wad of gum he'd been chewing. He really hadn't expected Charmer to be so candid and unabashed about it all, and he couldn't help wondering what else he'd missed whilst he'd been vetting her for all those months. What other secrets were there to uncover about her? Of course, his musing was from a purely professional stand point alone, since he naturally wanted to know all about his partner. There was nothing personal behind it. Nothing at all.

 


	4. Chapter 4

They were sitting on top of the construction site in Cambridge, the super mutants slaughtered, because bat-shit crazy Tinker Tom had asked her to set up another MILA for him. Honestly, Nora knew she should have said no, especially since the locations he picked out were becoming more and more dangerous, but she genuinely liked the fruit-loop. So of course she said she'd go place another beacon for him, and because Deacon had some sense of loyalty as her partner, the poor sod had insisted he was coming too. Really, Nora knew she should have refused, should have swung by Goodneighbour to see if Hancock wanted in on some action, but she'd stupidly took Deacon at his word that he was alright. She hated herself for it.

It had only been five days ago that they'd gone to find out what had happened to Augusta safehouse, and Carrington's warning of 'something nasty' hadn't even come close. Sure, the bastard raiders were easy enough to deal with, especially thanks to her modified Deliverer pistol. However, the deathclaw had not been. Nora was now blind in her left eye, thanks to being smacked in the face with it's steel-hard tail, but that was nothing compared to Deacon. He'd been almost disembowelled by the bastard, as it'd lashed out during it's death throws, and it had taken every Stimpack they'd had for him not to bleed out... and every syringe of Med-X just to get him back to HQ. Glory had rushed over to take Deacon off her hands and carried him to Carrington, the moment they arrived, whilst Drummer Boy had steered Nora into a chair to try deal with her injury. But it had gone too long without treatment, and the foggy mist that covered the eye was permanent. So she'd gone to the shooting range whilst Deacon was in surgery, and angrily taught herself how to aim with only limited vision; everyone but Glory had given her a wide berth that night, and the two had formed a strong bond in between drinking straight vodka and shooting targets.

After that, Nora had spent four days and nights sat by Deacon's mattress, obsessively stripping and cleaning their weapons. On the third day he'd been lucid enough to joke that she was taking one too many social cues from Fluffy, since she was acting like a guard dog; she hadn't denied it. The fourth day Deacon was sitting up beside her, whilst she meticulously stitched in new ballistic weave into his disguises for him, the fourth night he was stir crazy, whilst this morning the slippery bastard had persuaded Nora to let him come along on her mission for Tom... and people called _her_ silver tongued. But now, whilst she carefully dug a bullet out of his shoulder as they sat above all of Cambridge, Nora really regretted bringing Deacon on this fool's errand. He was still recovering, even if the wound was gone thanks to Carrington's skill and several Stimpacks worth of magic. But he wasn't a hundred per cent, and had been too weary from the fight and the climb, to dodge that last attack in time. So she'd mowed down his assailant, did the quickest sweep for enemies ever, before propping Deacon's head on her thigh and tending to him.

“I'd like to talk, if you're interested,” he murmured.

“What about?” Nora relied, as she finished up extracting the bullet.

“I'm used to flying solo. But I gotta admit, working with you makes me think I've been missing out. Having someone watching your back... it's refreshing,” Deacon stated, his sunglasses covered eyes looking up at the darkening sky. “Especially since you never know when the Institute is watching.”

She snorted at his suddenly dramatic tone. It seemed he couldn't play it straight for more than two minutes, since the first part had seemed strangely honest and serious coming from Deacon; they might have only been working with each other for a few weeks, but Nora had already learned that her partner was a pathological and compulsive liar. It was just who he was, what his job required him to be, so she took it in her stride. There was nothing ever malicious about the lies, and everything was always so grandiose about the stories he spun, so it was pretty easy to know what was fake. And since she'd been a damn good lawyer before the war, Nora could naturally spot a bullshitter a mile away anyway. She'd never failed to notice what part of Deacon's words were truth and not lies, and there was a surprising amount of it, buried under all the crap that came out of his mouth.

“You've never had a partner?” she asked, administering a Stimpack.

“Not for a long time,” he said, sitting up. “Besides, partnering up in the Railroad can leave you vulnerable. One more person who can finger you to the Institute.”

“I'm not going to sell you out,” Nora assured.

Deacon nodded, as if he already knew. “Some people at HQ are jealous. You took the Big Nap and everyone you knew is long gone.”

Nora raised an incredulous eyebrow, resisting the urge to snap, opting to remain silent.

“Wait, here me out on the silver lining,” he continued, quickly. “If a human in the Railroad slips, then they expose their friends and loved ones to danger. You're safe from that.”

Without a word, Nora got up, collected her pack and simply began to walk away. She didn't actually intend on leaving Deacon to get back to HQ on his own, but she refused to sit and listen. She was fuming. However, unlike the fury that had burned white hot during her hunt for Kellogg, the anger Nora felt now was a cold creeping thing. The kind that settled in her heart and numbed. However, she didn't know if Deacon was speaking his own mind, or just passing on what he'd overheard, so she didn't want to risk taking it out on her partner if he didn't deserve it. However, the stupid sod didn't know when to leave well enough alone, and she was only half way down the partially built tenement before she heard hurried footsteps following her. She made it down two more sets of stairs before his hand landed on her shoulder, and Nora just couldn't help it. She whirled around to face Deacon, knocking his hand away as she turned.

“My son's been kidnapped and my husband murdered in front of my eyes, whilst I was helpless to do anything,” she hissed. “And even taking that away, I _have_ loved ones, here and now, that I would die for. I have Fluffy and Nick and Ellie and Hancock and Preston and Sturges and now you! I also have the entirety of the Minutemen to worry about, a dozen settlements that rely on me. If anything, I'm at a disadvantage to all of you. You worry about them wiping out the Railroad. I have to worry about the Railroad and Minutemen and the settlers that look to me and my men to protect them. I joined the Railroad because my best friend is a synth. That's the whole damned reason. My best friend is a synth and I wanted to help people like him. And I'm supposedly 'safe'?! My son hasn't just been kidnapped, Deacon. The Institute have him... the Institute _has_ my son. And they murdered my husband. I'm already living your worst case scenario.”

Deacon's ginger eyebrows appeared atop his sunglasses, as if his eyes were wide in shock. His hands hovered in mid air, not quite a placating gesture, but not quite reaching for her either. Nora scrubbed at her good eye, that was suspiciously starting to sting with tears. She felt bad for snapping at Deacon, because she really hadn't meant to, but she couldn't take the words back... she didn't want to take the words back. She meant them, and she wanted a least one damn person to understand what she was going through. But her partner didn't seem to know what to do after her outburst, and she could have giggled that she'd managed to stun the infamous tale spinner into silence, but a tear rolled down her cheek instead.

That seemed to shock Deacon out of his daze, because a moment later, Nora found herself held tightly in his strong arms. She hadn't expected it, not one bit, and it made the torrent of swirling thoughts rush against the mental barriers she'd tried to lock them behind. Her breath shuddered as she tried to calmly exhale, which made Deacon hug her even tighter. Her tears began to fall in earnest then, silently rolling down her cheeks and soaking the once-white t-shirt he wore beneath his leather jacket, and all Nora could do was hold onto him; like an anchor in a storm.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“What did you do, Dee?”

Deacon didn't jump when Glory's voice sounded right next to his ear, he didn't even flinch, he just watched as Charmer walked out of HQ after saying she was going for 'some fresh air'. It had been three days since he'd so spectacularly fucked up, three days that she'd barely said a word to him, despite the fact they were still wandering the Commonwealth together. They'd stopped in Goodneighbour, where she'd spent the night with Hancock. Okay, Deacon didn't know if she'd _spent_ the night, but the pair had certainly secluded themselves away from everyone else. Then again, it had also happened in Diamond City, where she'd spent the night with Valentine; and Deacon was a hundred percent sure she hadn't _spent_ the night with the detective. But still, it hadn't sat right with him... neither nights had, doubts and worries had niggled in his gut.

But she'd gone into the market in Diamond City, got her hair cut into a severe high ponytail-undercut combination. It was actually pretty bad-ass and Deacon personally thought she really suited it, but naturally didn't say anything. He did give his opinion when he'd followed her into Fallon's and found her trying on sunglasses though, and quietly told her not to waste her caps whilst she was eyeing up the jumpsuits; since he knew Tom had been working on some ballistically padded ones, which would save Charmer the extra work. She'd listened and nodded, even offered in the slightest hit of a smile, but that had been it.

However, the third night as they'd camped out in the wastes, was probably the worst. Charmer had insisted on taking 'first watch', which ended up lasting all night, because despite Deacon laying awake waiting for her to get him, she hadn't budged... and he'd been too much of a coward to approach her. He was still reeling from their hug, that _he'd_ initiated. He never initiated physical contact, and generally tried to avoid it at all costs unless a cover required it. Because physical contact easily led to physical affection, and physical affection soon became emotional attachment, and emotional attachment spelt danger. However, he was still reeling from her sudden cold shoulder, even if he understood why he deserved it; he'd been such an idiot, even if he'd honestly just wanted to let her know what he'd been overhearing the few times they swung by HQ. And now as he watched Charmer walk out the door towards the church, Deacon wasn't sure if it was him she was avoiding or the rest of the people in HQ. He wasn't sure which option was worse.

“What makes you think I've done anything?” he replied, guilelessly.

“She doesn't like the bones,” Tom said, absent-mindedly, not looking up from his computer. “Gives her the heebee-geebees. Said she felt better when I told her there was none of the Institute's little bugs in them, but she still don't like them.”

Deacon's grin masked his sudden internal panic. How did Tinker Tom know that when he didn't? He expected Nick and Hancock to possibly know facts he'd missed, but how did the inventor? He'd been the one who'd vetted Charmer, he was the one who was her partner, so how had he missed that sort of thing? But Deacon played it cool, acted like he already knew, and sauntered out of HQ after Charmer. Or at least he had, until he was sure he was out of earshot of the others, then sprinted through the catacombs. He paused at the entrance of the church, habitually checking to see what dust had been disturbed on the floor. To his surprise, a set of small footprints led towards the steeple. Deacon swallowed passed the sudden lump in his throat; heights didn't bother him, rotten decaying wood that separated him from making quick acquaintance with the ground did. But if Charmer had gone up there, then he really did need to follow. Just to keep tabs on her of course, not because he cared.

He took his time going up the narrow, winding staircase. Not from fear though, but because of his excellent survival skills. Which was why he peaked around the corner into the bell tower first, spotting Nora sitting on the floor with her back against the flaking low wall, lighting a cigarette. She looked up immediately, as if she'd sensed him, and her hand seemed to draw her pistol automatically. He held up his hands immediately, and even though she lowered it again within the same heartbeat she'd aimed it, Deacon took his time crossing the miniscule space between them, before carefully sitting down beside her. It was caution that made his actions slow, not hesitation, not one bit. And as he glanced at Charmer covertly... not warily... Deacon hadn't expected her to silently offer him the cigarette that had just been between her distractingly full lips. Or he imagined they were distracting at least, to other people. Not him.

“I'm a synth,” he stated, almost suddenly. “At least that's what they tell me. So I really don't have anything to lose if the Institute ever got me, it's why I've rarely had a partner. For Glory, me and the others, it's easier to dedicate ourselves to the cause.”

“I'd have never guessed,” Charmer replied, taking back the offered cigarette.

“I don't like talking about it,” he continued. “I was one of the first synths they did the whole cranium reboot thing on. So it was a bit of a botch job.”

“That explains a lot,” she stated.

Deacon glanced at her again through his sunglasses, but he genuinely couldn't tell if she was serious or just being deadpan. It unnerved him. No one had ever been able to stupefy him like Charmer did. She had a damn good poker face, but Deacon knew he still had to make her wiser to the people around her, make her more cautious. He'd been planning this since before Augusta, and had actually planned on instigating it the night he might as well have shot himself in the foot, for how big a mistake he'd made. Of course, this could also blow up in his face now, but he'd never had someone not fall for his lies... at least the first time he spun a tale for them. So Deacon was determined to pull it off tonight.

“Since we're travelling together, I want you to take this,” he said, pulling out a scrap of paper of his shirt pocket. “It's my recall code. If you ever need to know something about the Institute, read it to me.”

Charmer actually looked at him then, or at least between him and the piece of old cigarette carton in her hand. For one brilliant moment, Deacon thought she'd bought it, that she was going to open it up. But to his surprise, she used her cigarette to set it on fire. They both silently watched it burn mostly to ash, before Charmer ground out the rest with the heel of her boot.

“You are so full of shit,” she announced, though her tone was suspiciously fond.

Deacon turned his head to properly regard her, before bursting out laughing. “Alright. You got me. No fooling you, huh? Don't take it personally, I lie to everyone.”

“I know, but I like you,” she stated, conversationally. “You're a lying bastard with probably more disguises than I've had hot dinners out here, but I trust you, Dee.”

He was stunned. Literally stunned silent for a moment. It was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him, and certainly not what he'd been expecting her to say, especially after what had happened at the construction site. It startled a chuckle out of him, which was the most honest laugh he'd given in years, and he shook his head. Charmer was something else.

“It really is refreshing, having someone to watch my back,” he admitted, truthfully.

The smile he was reward with was nothing short of breath taking, no word of a lie, and it made something unclench in his chest. A weight he hadn't even known he was carrying. In that moment, Deacon realised he was treading a dangerous path. Because he might... just possibly... almost definitely but not a chance if anyone asked... have a small, tiny, inconsequential, blink and you miss it... honest... _thing_ for his partner. And oddly, Deacon realised he was actually, kinda, sort of okay with that. Honestly. He wasn't freaking out about it. Nope. Not at all.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Unable to help it, Nora let herself admire Deacon as he walked back from the bar, holding a beer in each hand. They were in the Dug Out, doing a 'low-key' recon. mission; so Nora had opted for skin-tight jeans and a faded... armoured... Grognak tee, whilst her partner wore grey slacks, a once-white shirt, and an open black waistcoat. The shirt pulled snugly over his torso, showing off a hint of muscle, and teamed with his usual sunglasses, he looked pretty sexy. Which she'd had no problem telling him, and Deacon had grinned widely as he'd opened the bar door for her. Nora had expected them to split up after that, assuming their target was a woman, since it was a disguise that attracted a lot of female attention. Before his arm settled around her, that was. If it had been her shoulders, Nora wouldn't have thought anything of it, since they'd played the sibling card during a few missions, thanks to their similar complexions. However, Deacon's arm had curled around her waist. Of course, Nora had instantly slipped into the roll without a thought, after all, she wouldn't have made such a big name for herself in the law courts, if she wasn't an excellent bullshitter. So she'd played her part, giggling softly as he'd leant in to whisper in her ear... that he was going to head to the bar to make a covert sweep of the room... then winked at him suggestively, when she'd picked a secluded corner for them to sit.

“We've been making the rounds, doing the job. But it's time you learned the big secret,” Deacon said, as he sat down beside her.

Nora simply raised an expectant eyebrow, before taking a sip of the tepid beer he handed her.

“Everyone thinks that Desdemona is the big boss. She calls the ops, gives the ra-ra-speeches. But it's just an act,” he stated. “She does as I tell her to because the Railroad's my show. It's been that way since I founded it.”

“You founded the Railroad?” she asked, neutrally.

“Me and Johnny D and Watts. Hell, that was over sixty... seventy years ago. After a while, you lose count,” Deacon explained. “I tell everyone I get the occasional face change to stay anonymous. Truth is, it takes a lot to keep this mug handsome.”

Nora couldn't help smirking a little... there was her opening, the one she'd been waiting for weeks to materialise. Because if Deacon insisted on toying with her, she was going to have her own fun. So she shimmied a little closer, until their thighs brushed together, and when her partner glanced down for a second... obviously confused at the sudden contact... Nora used his distraction to press up against him, as her arm draped languidly around his broad shoulders. Deacon seemed to go a little rigid at her touch, and he visibly swallowed when she used her free hand to lightly caress his slightly stubbled cheek.

“And what a handsome mug it is,” Nora purred.

“We've done a long way since the beginning,” Deacon continued, his shaded gaze locked on her face. “We've done a lot of good. Saved a lot of synths. But we're about more than that. We're the last line of defence between the Institute and the Commonwealth. Hell, maybe even the world.”

She didn't mind admitting that she was impressed. His voice hadn't wavered once, even as she began to run her fingers suggestively down his throat and torso, towards his stomach. She didn't go any further, and instead flattened her hand as she skimmed her palm around his waist, affectively curling up into his side. Nora doubted that he'd have even stiffened at the sudden contact, if it had been a target at not her, that had draped themselves over him. But she'd always known he was good. The same should be true in reverse, since he'd more or less admitted to stalking her for months. However, Deacon still liked do these silly tests and daft 'trust' exercises, and Nora simply wanted to get her own back. So she pressed in further, moulding her body to his, let her lips barely graze his throat as she whispered in his ear:

“You are so fucking full of it, Dee. You do realise I was a lawyer before the war, right? I was the best in Boston. The army approached me about working for them as a spy, before we found out I was pregnant. It's how I ended up as a military lawyer in the end, since Nate was a veteran.”

Deacon seemed to relax at her words, and his chuckle ghosted across her bare shoulder as he played along, pulling her a little closer. If anyone was looking... including Yefim and Vadim who knew Nora rather well... they'd have just assumed they really were a couple on a date, being a little extra affectionate. Though in reality, she was trying not to burst out laughing, as she felt more than saw Deacon's smile.

“How did I miss that fact about you?” he asked, accusingly. “Anyone else know this sordid little secret of yours?”

“Please... if you think this is sordid, god-forbid you ever find out what me and Nate did on weekends,” she teased. “But to answer your question, Hancock and Nick know I was a lawyer, though I think only the latter knows what I actually did. The only reason I've never mentioned the spy thing, is because there's not really a story to tell. I was approached, I said I'd consider, a week later I had a positive pregnancy test sitting on our bathroom sink.”

“Well, well, Agent Charmer, aren't you full of surprises,” Deacon chuckled.

“Better than being full of bullshit,” Nora retorted, before sobering. “But seriously, Dee. This isn't my first rodeo. I get that you lie, that it's your thing. I get that you'll never give me a straight answer to anything, it's why I don't ask about anything personal. It doesn't stop me liking you, or wanting to be your partner in all this, but please... stop with these tests of yours. With all the hoops I have to jump through for everyone else, I don't want to have to do it with my friends.”

He jerked away from her like he'd been burnt, though his shaded gaze remained locked on her face, unreadable. Nora just regarded him silently, wondering if he was more surprised with the fact she finally called him out on it, or because she'd sounded so damn weary with it all... since Nora sure as hell was. The only two people she ever fully relaxed around was Nick and Hancock; the three of them were unflinchingly honest with each other, they didn't hide their feelings. If a question was asked, no matter how uncomfortable, the other answered. It was what drew Nora to them in the first place. But it wasn't like that with Deacon, she hadn't meant for her feelings to slip into her tone, because Nora honestly adored the guy and enjoyed working with him too, but she always held a little bit of herself back. She was tired of it. She didn't like being guarded around someone she considered a friend. But Deacon had been looking at her silently for so long, that Nora was thinking of just calling it a night... she could always just joke to Yafim and Vadim that it was a date gone wrong, and their cover would still be intact... but then Deacon gave a sigh, his shoulders visibly sagging.

“Okay, Charmer,” he said, quietly. “That's... fair. No more tests. I promise.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Deacon tried to calm his breathing, focusing on counting the dilapidated ceiling tiles above his head, whilst desperately trying to ignore the sound of tools being sharpened nearby. Soon enough, it would all be fodder for one of his infamous tales; he just needed to keep telling himself that.

He'd already discovered there was no point trying to escape, a lesson learnt days ago during his last attempt, when the cuffs binding his wrists and ankles to the cold metal table had delivered an almighty shock to his body. After that, Deacon had worryingly started to lose his sense of time. He no longer had a clue if it was day or night, but at his best guess, he'd been at the mercy of the Institute's hospitality for eleven days; because despite the run down shack he was being held in, Deacon knew a Courser when he saw one. He also knew the Institute employed more mercenaries than just that bastard Kellogg. So he really shouldn't have been _that_ surprised, that the synth he'd been sent to find was actually a merc working for the Institute; though the fact they also sent a Courser to ambush him made Deacon feel a little better about his predicament.

It definitely sounded impressive, and was certainly going to add spice to the story he was trying to concoct. It would probably make the cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, broken fingers and busted knee cap seem much more bad-ass as well. Not to mention the lacerations on his feet, and the cigarette burns on his most sensitive parts... though on second thought, he'd likely leave that detail out, it didn't make a good story. Talking of good stories, was it worth mentioning he was stark naked through all of it? Deacon wasn't sure. However, it was a shame he wasn't wearing his sunglasses any more, since they'd been broken in the original fight. _That_ would certainly have added flare to the tale.

“Is it necessary to take this long to extract information?” an expressionless voice asked, somewhere to his left.

“I've told you before, X5, torture is an art,” replied a grizzly voice. “It takes time, patience. Especially when they're as pretty as this one.”

Unable to help himself, Deacon snorted. He didn't think he'd ever been called that before, and it was _definitely_ going into his story... Glory would certainly get a kick out of it, though no one would ever believe it.

“Oh, you like that, pretty boy?” the merc asked, looming into view. “Just wait until I'm through with you.”

Deacon could hear heavy footsteps walk away, which presumably meant the Courser was leaving; and who would have guessed the Institute's boogie-men didn't have the taste for torture. His heart pounded in his chest, as he tried to cling on to the notion that it would all be over soon. Though he supposed it could well be, especially when the merc held up a wickedly sharp knife that glinted in the dim light... just not the way he wanted it to. Though if this was one of his stories, he'd need an epic rescue scene. Something with drama, suspense, and the hero swooping in at the last second, guns blazing. But who was Deacon kidding? If it was up to him, there would only be one person doing the rescuing; a leading lady who could charm a raider to join a knitting circle. Charmer. The heroine that the whole commonwealth needed, not just him.

But that was oddly romantic and poetic, yet despite his perchance for lies, Deacon did try to be a realist. He wouldn't have survived as many situations as he had, without seeing the nitty-gritty of the real world. Which meant he knew his partner was undoubtedly somewhere else, helping people that deserved her time far more than he did. Besides, if Deacon was being completely honest with himself, he didn't see this story having a happy ending, especially as the merc slowly brought the blade worrying close to his exposed right eye. This was it. The end of the line. Deacon just hoped he'd die before he gave up any Railroad secrets... until the mercenary's head suddenly exploded.

The knife clattered to the table without even nicking him, and Deacon risked a relieved sigh. He couldn't see who his savour was, but he heard the sound of tapping, as they presumably began to hack into the nearby terminal. A moment later, there was a loud beep and the cuffs finally released their too tight hold. Deacon would have liked to have said he sat up immediately, paying no heed to his injuries. But the truth was that he could only stare up at Charmer, as her stupidly beautiful face came into view. She would have been a sight for sore eyes, even if she didn't look like a pre-war pin up. Which of course, she did. Even if she was inexplicably dressed as the Silver Shroud.

“You're disguises need more work,” he stated, deadpan.

Charmer snorted. “Hate to break it to you, Dee, but you really need to brush up your seduction techniques. Not that the view is all bad, but I prefer my naked men blood and injury free.”

“Damn,” Deacon sighed, shaking his head. “And here I was hoping your were into that kinky shit. You disappoint me, Charmer.”

The pair lapsed into silence as she carefully helped him to sit up, though try as he might, Deacon couldn't help the odd whimper that escaped his clenched teeth. Once he was perched on the edge of the table, Charmer gave a low whistle, and immediately scampering dog claws could be heard. A moment later, Fluffy trotted into view, her backpack held between it's teeth. Without a word, Charmer began to rummage, before quickly retrieving a set of clothes, several Stimpacks and a syringe of Med-X. Deacon let his forehead rest on her shoulder, as she carefully insert the first needle into the bicep of his good arm. To his surprise, he felt her lips softly press to his bald head, and unable to help himself, Deacon reached for her hip. She was warm and solid under his touch, the thick cotton of her padded trench coat was smooth under his palm; confirming that yes, she was real, Charmer really had come for him.

It took Deacon longer than he would have liked to eventually get dressed. The t-shirt was the worst of it, but there hadn't been tears in his eyes when it was finally on, no matter what Charmer's look of concern said otherwise. Obviously, that wasn't going in his story. But then again, it might be interesting to include how the heroine couldn't keep her hands off him. Not that anyone would believe it, considering who the leading lady was. Charmer was so _good._ Which was why he'd been diligently ignoring his growing feelings for weeks... months. Deacon was a realist, not a sadist.

“Come on, handsome,” Charmer smiled. “Better get Carrington to look at that arm.”

'And the rest' was very loudly left unsaid, something that Deacon only helped prove, when he ended up needing her support to hobble out of the dingy room. However, he did manage a small genuine smile for his partner, when she silently handed him a new pair of shades. The relief he felt as he slipped them on, once again covering his distinctive blue eyes, was indescribable. It was just in the nick of time too, because to his surprise, Glory and High Rise were waiting in the adjoining room; the former rummaging through the dead Courser's pockets, whilst the latter kept watch. Deacon shook his head, looking between the three of them, trying to process that they'd taken out a _Courser_ just to rescue him.

High Rise shrugged. “Our girl Charmer is as good with a gun as she is with words.”

“All guns blazing too,” Glory smirked. “Any one would think she was worried about you.”

Charmer laughed, but her arm tightened around his waist. “Nah, just didn't want to train a new partner. Dee's already house broken, after all.”

In a rare show of honest emotion and affection, Deacon pressed his chapped lips to her temple. “Thanks, partner. I owe you one."

 


	8. Chapter 8

Nora _hated_ staying in the crypt. She didn't care if everyone else called it HQ, it was a bloody crypt, still filled with dead bodies. Just because there were living bodies that weren't ferals, sleeping all around her as well, didn't make the situation any better. She'd honestly do just about anything to avoid spending more time in the horrid place than need be, but Nora had to reluctantly admit the situation _was_ necessary. It was for Deacon.

When Nora had seen that bastard mercenary standing over him, she'd seen red... okay, she'd seen red the moment Desdemona had told her he was MIA, but refused to clear her to go find him. She'd only just got back from going to the Glowing Sea with Nick and Hancock, and had only stopped at home long enough to drop off the hazmat suit and get Fluffy, before she'd hurried to HQ to see if Deacon wanted to head out; call her a sap, but she'd missed the lying bastard. So she'd grit her teeth at the news, stated she had Agency business that needed her attention, and left without a backward glance. She'd gone straight to Diamond City, intending to ask Nick if he'd help her look for Deacon, even if it meant she had to make it an official case. Not that her plan even got as far as the market, nevermind the agency, since Glory and High Rise had unexpectedly been waiting for her at the gates. At first, Nora thought Desdemona had sent them, but the moment they both stated they didn't agree with the decision and wanted to help, she couldn't help hugging them both tightly.

She'd decided to try the frequency trick Virgil had taught her, though the first attempt had lead them to Greenetech Genetics, a bunch of Gunners, and unfortunately the wrong Courser. Their second attempt had been much more successful, and they'd managed to take out the bastard when he'd stepped outside the shack they'd tracked him too. High Rise had insisted on dragging the body back inside, just in case it attracted any unwanted attention, but Nora had pressed on; with the sense of dread building in her gut. She'd snuck into the shack, creeping forward until she spotted a mercenary looming over her partner. No real thought had gone into blowing his brains out; not like the careful planning and pinpoint timing they'd poured into taking out the damn Courser. No, her finger had pulled the trigger before her brain caught up with her gut instinct. Not that she was complaining... not about that at least.

Nora hated that she hadn't been there when Deacon needed her, she hated that she hadn't been fast enough to stop him suffering. However, she took small comfort in the fact she'd at least saved him... it was more than she'd managed for Nate; and with that thought in mind, Nora gave up the pretence of trying to sleep. Only nightmares would find her tonight if she succumbed. So biting back a groan, she sat up and stretched, not exactly surprised to find Deacon looking her way. Or more accurately, she wasn't surprised to find his sunglasses reflecting the low lamp light, as he turned towards her. Silently, he inclined his head towards the exit that led into the church, and Nora nodded. Carefully, she picked her way over a sleeping Drummer Boy, Tinker Tom and Glory. She nearly made it passed High Rise too, who was bunking at HQ for the night, before his hand shot out to grab her ankle. It was a small wonder Nora didn't yelp in shock, and she glared at him for scaring her. However, he just raised an expectant eyebrow at her, before his gaze flicked to Deacon's retreating back. Nora understood immediately, and gave High Rise a wink. A silent: 'don't worry, I've got this'. High Rise gently squeezed her ankle in reply, before rolling back over.

Shaking her head, Nora jogged to catch up with Deacon, flicking on her Pip Boy's torch to help light their way through the creepy catacombs. Of course, he knew the winding tunnels gave her the heebie-geebies, and though he liked to crack jokes about finally finding something that scared the 'Illustrious Charmer, Fearless General of the Minutemen', Deacon still held out an elbow so Nora could link her arm with his. They made their way through the quiet church, towards the back, and the wooden stairs of the steeple creaked a little ominously, as Deacon led her upwards to the neglected bell tower. Though once at the top, Nora boosted herself up to sit on the ledge, her legs dangling precariously over the edge of the tower. Behind her, Deacon gave a small noise of protest, and a ghost of a smile tugged the corner of Nora's mouth.

This was her payback for being dragged to through the tunnels. She hated the crypts, he hated heights, even if he'd deny it until he was blue in the face. However, Deacon just sighed before leaning against the sill next to Nora, his feet planted firmly inside the steeple. The silence between them stretched on, but it was anything but uncomfortable. Nora knew that Deacon lied ninety-nine per cent of the time, and he was bending the truth the other one per cent. So Deacon being quiet was the only time Nora knew he was being completely honest, and she didn't try to fill the silence with idle chatter. Instead, her partner gave another world weary sigh, before leaning his head against hers. Nora gave a huff of laughter, as her hand snaked across his toned stomach, to give him a one armed hug.

The stayed like that for who knows how long, the chill night air whistling around them, and the sound of distant gunshots ringing somewhere below. Nora stayed looking out over the Commonwealth, trying to pick out her settlements from the glowing lights on the horizon, until she felt Deacon tap her hand. She moved immediately, swinging her legs back inside the tower, just as he sat himself down on the worn wooden floor. Surprisingly, Deacon was completely avoiding her gaze, his sunglasses facing any direction but her. Curious, Nora sat down beside him, intrigued that the silence had lasted so long, especially now he was being shifty again. She lightly bumped her shoulder into his, a quiet 'I'm here for you', that finally got Deacon to glance at her. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, which was so unlike him that Nora began to worry, until he raised his arm nearest to her... an obvious and open invitation.

Though surprised, Nora wasted no time in cuddling up to him. It wasn't like they'd never hugged before, but this seemed different somehow. She almost asked him what was wrong, until she suddenly had an epiphany. Deacon thought she was going to reject him. Unexpected tears pricked Nora's mismatched eyes as she curled up closer to him, her arm once again creeping across his torso, to pull them as tight together as she could manage; earning her a small chuckle from her partner. In the end, Nora sat in between Deacon's legs, leaning back against his solid chest, with his knees bent to make excellent arm rests. Across her own bent knees sat a faded Live & Love magazine, that her partner had retrieved from one of his pockets. Why that instead of a Grognak comic he usually preferred, Nora had no idea, but she figured she could tease him about it another day. Right then, she was just content to sit with Deacon's pleasantly strong arms wrapped around her waist.

They still hadn't said a word to each other. But when he propped his chin on her shoulder, and nuzzled his ginger stubbled cheek affectionately against her jaw, she supposed they didn't need to. Deacon was only one hundred per cent honest when he was silent, and Nora was absolutely fine with that.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a rare moment of peace for them both, since Tinker Tom was still decoding the Courser chips Charmer had recovered, not to mention Deacon was still on restricted duties, until Carrington gave him the all-clear. So essentially, they were on some sort of depraved mini-vacation, and Charmer had invited him to stay at Homeplate with her. It had been a pretty cushy forty-eight hours so far, where Deacon had spent the days reading through Charmer's extensive comic book and magazine collection, whilst she worked with Nick in the agency. In the evening, they'd cook together, before either playing cards or checkers until they were both too tired to keep their eyes open. They collapsed into Charmers shockingly clean and soft bed after that; she'd offered him the single that sat on the platform above her sleeping area, but since Deacon knew that area had been set aside for her son rather than guests, he'd declined. Actually, he'd declined and offered to sleep downstairs on the sofa... if Fluffy allowed him, that was... but Charmer wouldn't agree, citing the fact he had doctor's orders to rest.

So they'd slept back to back that first night, at Deacon's insistence, but since he woke the next morning with his arm slung over Charmer's waist anyway, he didn't bother fighting it the second night. It was probably the best night's rest he'd had in years, not to mention the whole experience was also the most relaxed and safe he'd felt since before joining the Railroad, and as he watched Charmer wash up their plates from dinner, Deacon couldn't help thinking how domestic it all was. But he was loving every minute of this fantasy life, even if he knew it would only last for a few days more. However, ever since arriving in Diamond City, he'd made a promise to himself that he'd finally repay Charmer for everything she'd done for him; even if the thought honestly made his stomach churn with dread.

“Hey. I... got something important to say,” Deacon sighed, trying not to fidget. “I really appreciate you putting up with my bullshit. Truth is, it's been a long time since I've had a... friend. I'm a liar. Everyone knows it. I make no secret of it, because the truth is... I'm a fraud. To my core.”

Charmer said nothing, just silently regarded him for a moment before turning her back to him. Deacon hung his head, knowing he should have kept his mouth shut, but after everything they'd been through together, he just wanted to give Charmer something; and the only thing he had that she'd want, was the truth. He knew it was going to blow up in his face, and the whole thing was just a stupid idea... until a bottle of vodka and two glasses were set on the coffee table in front of him. Startled, Deacon looked up as Charmer settled on the sofa beside him, close enough that their knees bumped together when she turned to face him.

“This seemed like a fitting response,” she said, gesturing towards the alcohol. “It sounds like you're making a confession.”

Knowing Charmer as well as he did, Deacon was pretty damn sure she'd done it to either give him something to do with his twitchy hands, or to give him a moment to collect himself; possibly both. He spared her a fleeting smile as he reached for the bottle, poured them both a generous glass, then handed Charmer hers before settling back into his corner of the couch. Her free hand unexpectedly found his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze that was surprisingly comforting. However, it didn't stop the way Deacon's heart pounded in his chest, or the way his fingers started to tap a rhythm on the side of his glass.

“When I was young, a hell of a long time ago, I was... well, scum. I was a bigot. A very violent bigot,” he admitted, glad he still had his sunglasses to hide behind.

“Where you really that bad?” Charmer asked, sounding a little sceptical.

Deacon sighed. Obviously, he'd known there was a chance that she wouldn't believe him. After all, he was a liar, he'd even admitted as such. However, just this once, he desperately wanted Charmer to believe him. It was going to be bad enough admitting what he planned to say to her, so Deacon didn't want to have to _make_ her believe as well. He just hoped, just this once, that she'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Worse than that,” he said, fighting the urge to look away from her. “I ran with a gang in University Point. We called ourselves the UP Deathclaws. For kicks, we'd terrorise anyone we thought was a synth.”

“Is that why you struggled when we had to go there?” she queried, sombrely.

A small huff of laughter escaped him at her question. Trust Charmer to notice something he'd been diligently trying to hide. In all honestly, when Carrington had first tasked them all those months ago to monitor the situation in the area, Deacon had been sorely tempted to ask Desdemona for reassignment. The only reason he'd gone through with it, was because he figured it would be too hard to think up an effective lie that everyone... including Charmer... would fall for. So he'd kept his mouth shut and gone with his partner, trying not to scowl at every terminal entry he read over her shoulder. The whole ghost town had made him feel sick, it had brought back far too many memories. He'd tried to keep a detached facade up though, even if Charmer had sent him increasingly frequent looks of concern. Deacon had tried to tell himself she just thought he was fatigued, or maybe injured, but he'd known he was lying to himself. Charmer was probably the smartest person he'd ever met... certainly the smartest person who wasn't also crazy... so he should have realised she'd know there was something genuinely wrong.

“Pretty much,” Deacon replied, quietly. “We kept egging each other on. Started with some property damage, graduated to beat downs. Then, inevitably, a lynching. The Claw's leader was convinced we'd finally found and killed a synth. Looking back, I'm not so sure.”

He forced himself to meet her mismatched gaze, albeit like a coward from behind his shades; but Deacon just wasn't brave enough to remove his last line of defence. But even with them, he could see the look of horror that briefly contorted Charmer's attractive face, and he watched how she downed her vodka, before pouring another glass. The silence between them was deafening, and Deacon's heart continued to race in his chest, as his partner blew out an obviously controlled breath.

“I'll... reserve judgement, until you're done,” she stated, her tone strained.

“I... appreciate that,” he admitted, sipping his own vodka. “That one death was enough for me. His eyes... they still haunt me. So I turned my back on my 'brothers', broke all contact. Time passed, I became a farmer, if you can believe that. Then one day, I found someone. She saw something in me I didn't know was there. Barbara, well, she was... she just was.”

A tiny smile pulled at the corner of Charmer's full lips. “What was she like?”

Deacon barely managed to bite back the immediate response, which was to tell his partner that she reminded him a lot of Barbara, despite the fact it was true. Charmer's sense of rightness, her ability to look beyond what a person was showing her, her ability to put up with his bullshit... it all reminded him of Barbara. But no matter how true it was, Deacon knew it would just sound like a line coming from his mouth, so he settled on telling Charmer some basic things; like her smile, her eyes, he told her about unsuccessfully trying for kids, and about eking out a living.

“Then one day... it turns out my Barbara... she was a synth,” he told her, looking down into his half empty glass. “She didn't know that. I certainly didn't know that. I don't know how the Deathclaws found out. But... there was blood.”

Charmer's free hand reached for his immediately, grasping it tightly. Deacon squeezed back, glancing up at his partner and seeing the pain in her striking eyes. He huffed a broken laugh, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to smile for her, because out of anybody in the Commonwealth, Deacon _knew_ Charmer understood. He hated that she did, but he also desperately hoped that her understanding would mean she'd believe him. Because his partner had to know that even though he was a liar, he wasn't cruel. He'd never bullshit her about something that struck so close to home, he'd never lie to hurt her.

“I don't remember much clearly after that,” he continued, still holding her hand tightly. “I know I killed most of the Claws. I must have made a big impression. The Railroad contacted me, figuring I'd be sympathetic. Seeing that I'd lost my wife, and... well, what I did after.”

“I can understand what drove you,” Charmer admitted, quietly. “I know that sort of pain, that sort of rage.”

“I know you do,” Deacon replied, gently squeezing her fingers. “It's why I wanted to tell you, why I needed to. You're the _only_ one that knows the whole truth. I just... after everything that's happened... I wanted a way to show you how much you mean to me. That I trust you.”

She gave a watery laugh, tears very evident in her mismatched eyes. “Only you could make a confession into a declaration of friendship. But I understand, and I'll take your secret to the grave. I promise.”

Deacon was more glad than ever for his shades, when he started blinking back his own tears. “I don't even know why I lie any more. But I can't tell the truth. Everyone... Tom, Des, Glory, you... even that asshole Carrington... you all deserve to be in the Railroad. I don't. I'm everything wrong with this whole fucking Commonwealth. You're the only friend I got, Charmer. I don't deserve you being okay with this. Hell, I wasn't even asking for it. I just figured you should know.”

Without a word, Charmer set down her glass... as well as prising his barely touched one out of his clenched hand... before she slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Deacon went willingly, leaning into her so much that she toppled backwards onto the sofa cushions. He hurriedly went to push up and away from her, an apology on the tip of his tongue, until Charmer huffed a small laugh. Her arms tightened their hold, keeping him sprawled on top of her, not that Deacon was actually going to complain about it; it felt nice to be held by someone after all this time... especially someone he trusted. So after a bit of shimmying, they both found comfortable positions, and Deacon even held his glasses tightly in his hand, whilst his cheek rested just above her clavicle.

“I'll always be in your corner, Dee,” she said, quietly. “Nothing will ever change my mind on that.”

“When shit goes down, I'm with you to the end,” he told her, seriously. “Though I have to ask... why...”

"Did I believe you?” Charmer surmised.

He gave a slow hum of acknowledgement, hoping she couldn't feel how his heart was racing.

“When you lie, it's always grandiose,” she said, gently. “Your tales always paint yourself, or me, in the best possibly light. They're practically fantastical most of the time. But this... I don't exactly need you to tell you how this sounded.”

Deacon gave a self-depreciating snort, but otherwise remained silent.

“Also, I know you're not cruel,” Charmer continued. “You wouldn't lie to me about something like that, knowing that I watched Nate's murder. You'd never hurt me like that.”

“I never want to hurt you at all,” he admitted.

“Thanks, Dee,” she whispered, before pressing her soft lips to his forehead. “The feeling's mutual.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

It was hard to believe it had only been a week since their impromptu 'holiday', as Nora leant against the door frame of her little hut in Mercer Safehouse, trying to let the steadily falling... surprisingly non-acidic... rain soothe her frayed nerves. She was dressed for bed, in only a large t-shirt and knickers, so the cool air drew goosebumps on her bare legs, not that Nora really noticed. In all honesty, she felt pretty sick as her gaze locked on to the covered platform, that Tinker Tom and Sturges had managed to cobble together from Virgil's schematics. However, she couldn't decide whether it was the thought of infiltrating the Institute, or the fact she was going to willingly stand on that platform and be dematerialised, that was making her queasy; all Nora knew for sure was that she wasn't going to be getting any sleep that night. She'd already tried, tossing and turning into the early hours, whilst Deacon snored softly on his half of the bed _she_ was offered. But where Nora went so did her partner, not that she was complaining. If she'd have been left to her own devices, she'd have probably pulled her hair out by now. However, Deacon had kept her mind occupied with ridiculous stories about the other Railroad members, until they'd both been dozing off, and it was only natural for him to stay the night. Though the moment he was asleep and the hut was quiet, Nora's mind just wouldn't shut up.

She'd tried everything she could think of to try get some rest, but in the end gave up, and padded barefoot to the door, leaving Deacon to sleep... or so she thought, since a pair of warm hands suddenly settled on her shoulders, his thumbs massaging the tense muscles. Nora turned her head to glance at him, and almost jolted at the shock of having his intense blue eyes meet hers for a change. Unable to help it, she turned to face him, and found herself automatically reaching up to cup his face. But Deacon gently caught her hand, offering her a hint of a smile, before he tilted her wrist so he could access her Pipboy. Curious, she let him fiddle with the dials, until the sound of Diamond City radio quietly filled the near silence: Betty Hutting singing He's a Demon, He's a Devil, He's a Doll. Nora huffed a disbelieving laugh, though placed her hand in Deacon's when he flamboyantly offered his to her. He pulled her into a formal hold, though his free hand settled low on her spine. In reply, Nora stepped closer to him; their bodies flush and their eyes locked.

Deacon hadn't said a single word to her yet, though she didn't mind. He was rarely genuine unless he was silent, but Nora was completely okay with that; especially since she understood it was a big deal for her partner to let her see him without his customary shades. She couldn't help smiling up at Deacon warmly, so thankful to have him in her corner, and with the hand that had been resting on his shoulder, Nora reached up to gently stroke his stubbled cheek with the back of her fingers. To her surprised, he quickly turned his head to press a fleeting kiss to her digits. She swallowed thickly, passed the unexpected lump in her throat, as Deacon's gaze searched hers, looking for answers to questions Nora didn't know. Though his warm hand slid up her spine to cradle the back of her head, as his eyes continued to search her face.

“Dee...” she whispered.

Nora didn't manage to utter another sound, before Deacon was quickly closing the miniscule gap between them; though she still found herself with her back flush the door, that had closed when he carefully pressed her up against it. His striking blue eyes gave her one last assessing look, before he slowly closed the last millimetres of distance between them, giving her time to turn away if she wanted. But instead of deflecting, Nora wrapped her arms around Deacon's neck and pulled him to her. His lips were warm and slightly chapped as they brushed against hers, tentatively at first, until she pressed up into him. A tiny noise... part moan, part sob... seemed to reverberate in Deacon's throat, as he held her closer. Nora could smell the fresh scent of rain seeping through the cracks in the door, and felt the warmth that seemed to radiate from him, as their lips remained locked in a chaste but surprisingly intense kiss. She could feel tiny tremors that shook his hands as he held her tightly, almost as if he was afraid to let her go, and even when their kiss finally broke off, Deacon hugged her impossibly close. Tears pricked Nora's eyes as she squeezed him in return.

“I'm coming back,” she murmured. “I promise.”

Deacon didn't respond... well, not verbally at least. Instead he deftly picked her up, eliciting a squeak of surprise from Nora, before he carried her bridal style back towards the rickety bed, where he set her down gently. For a moment, he just silently looked at her, one large hand cupping her cheek as his thumb soothingly stroking her cheek bone, until Nora gripped his t-shirt and pulled him down to her. Once again, their kiss remained chaste, though Deacon's lips pressed harder against hers, before he peppered her mouth with fleeting pecks. Unable to help it, Nora giggled, earning her a warm smile from her partner. He settled down beside her after that, and without saying a word, gathered her back into his arms; Nora's head resting on his shoulder, whilst his strong arms encircled her torso. Her hand rested over his heart, and she finally drifted off to sleep counting Deacon's heartbeat, whilst Diamond City Radio continued to softly fill the comfortable silence between them.


	11. Chapter 11

Deacon had been contemplating... not brooding... ever since Charmer had stepped onto that blasted platform that, funnily enough, ended up blasted into dozens of pieces. Tinker Tom insisted she'd made it through the relay before the collapse, but as the first day dragged on to the second, then a third, Deacon wasn't sure what to believe. His head had already been swamped thinking... obsessing... about their kiss, and what it would mean for their partnership. He'd felt wrung out as he'd watched her step onto the teleporter, despite the fact they hadn't spoke about the night before. But that was his fault, since he'd slipped his sunglasses back into place before she woke, and acted like he hadn't lost his mind mere hours before. Not that Deacon regretted kissing Charmer, but that didn't stop him knowing it was stupid. He'd already hung out all his dirty laundry for her inspection, and when he'd kissed her that night, he might as well have shown her all the cards in his hand right there and then. But he'd been a fucking coward and hid behind some false bravado; because Charmer couldn't shatter his heart if he acted like he hadn't handed it to her on a silver platter. Or so he'd thought.

Desdemona had practically dragged him back to HQ, after he'd sat staring at the wreckage for a full twenty-four hours without moving. At first, Deacon had tried to fight, but he quickly realised that his heart just wasn't in the lies he spun. The stories fell flat, as his normally animated storytelling lacked any sort of emotion or inflection; because he was so focused on just holding it together. Because fuck! He'd believed Charmer when she said she was coming back, he'd desperately hung on to that fact, as she'd slept in his arms. But it genuinely took everything he had just to appear functioning, never mind fine. So Deacon had relented, and let Desdemona drag his sorry ass back to HQ; though he wasn't sure if he was glad or resentful, that she had him writing up reports and filling inventory. It was mindless, monotonous work that required little brain power, so Deacon could appreciate _why_ Des had him doing such menial tasks... even if his situation was _technically_ frowned upon. However, it was a double edge sword, as it gave Deacon far too much time to think of either all the horrible ways Charmer had already died, or all the too-fucking-kind ways she was going to inevitable tell him there was no future for them.

“It's Charmer! Charmer's back!”

Deacon's head snapped up at the sound of Drummerboy's shouting, and step out from behind the stack of shelves he'd been restocking for Carrington. His mouth went a little dry when he saw her, she looked _immaculate_. With her newly trimmed, ginger hair that was cut similar to Glory's style, and hung over her damaged eye. She was completely gore free, and as she walked passed him to the secluded corner Desdemona was leading her to, Deacon was certain he caught the faint aroma of clean soap and soft florals; something heady and almost intoxicating, something he'd never smelt in the Wastelands before. However, it was her outfit that was most noticeable... and was getting a vast amount of attention from the other Railroad agents... since Charmer was clad in a pristine Courser's uniform, along with sleek black sunglasses that wrapped around her face, and a new shiny paint job on her Pipboy. Even her weapons looked like they'd gotten a touch up whilst she'd been away, and Deacon's stomach roiled at the implications.

But just as she'd done for him when he told her about his past, Deacon tried to withhold judgement. Because this was Charmer, she wouldn't be a turncoat, she wouldn't sell them out to the Institute. Would she? Deacon shook his head. Of course she wouldn't. Still, he loitered around waiting for her quiet, professional conversation to be over with Desdemona, before he silently followed her to Tinker Tom. He wasn't quite sure what he was expecting, but certainly not watching Charmer unhook her Pipboy, relinquish her beloved guns... plus a shiny new Institute plasma pistol by the looks of it... before setting two pairs of identical sunglasses onto Tom's work bench, then shrugging off her duster coat; leaving her in a pair of black jeans, combat boots, and a perfectly white Institute t-shirt that hugged her curves, but also made Deacon's stomach churn. He _hated_ seeing his partner in the enemy's colours.

“Can you scan these for me?” she asked, quietly. “I found enough data in one of the labs to know how to scramble frequencies, so I'm pretty sure they can't trace me. But can you check there's no bugs, homing devices, tracking systems... that sort of stuff?”

“Quadruple checking... I like it,” Tom grinned. “Give me a few hours to work my magic.”

“Deal. But just be careful with my Pipboy. One of their scientists upgraded it to let me teleport in and out of the Institute at will. That has to remain functioning, or my cover will be blown.”

“Leave it to me,” the engineer said, waving her away.

It seemed Charmer didn't have to be told twice, since she made a quick beeline towards the exit that led up to the church, barely catching his eye... well, sunglasses... on the way passed. Still, Deacon followed her, his arm moving to curl around Charmer's shoulders almost of it's own volition, as they traipsed through the catacombs. She didn't say anything, but neither did she shrug him off, and it felt like a lead weight settled in Deacon's gut. He _knew_ something was wrong, he just didn't know what. But since Charmer had returned without her son, he was bouncing between the awful notion the Institute had already killed him, or the dreadful news that they were holding him ransom. Though those thoughts stuttered in his mind, when she managed to pull away from him just enough that she was leading the way up the steeple, with her fingers lightly catching hold of his as they climbed. And the moment they were at the top, Deacon finally lost the battle with his self control, and gently tugged Charmer into his arms. She went willingly, hugging him just as tightly as he held her.

“Did you find him?” he asked, his voice a strangled whisper.

Charmer nodded, her face buried into his chest.

“That bad?” Deacon pressed, gently.

“Worse,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his once-white t-shirt.

“Nora... what happened?”

She looked up sharply at the use of her actual name, her vivid blue eyes seeming wild and desperate, shimmering with tears as she searched his face. It physically hurt Deacon to see her in so much tangible pain.

“Shaun... he's... it's... I...”

Charmer burst into tears, her face pressed into the crook of Deacon's neck. He just tightened his arms around her like a vice, vaguely hoping that he could prevent her from breaking, if he just held her tightly enough. She was usually so calm and collected, so in control of herself and any given situation. Charmer had always been indomitable to Deacon, so now as he eased her down to the cracked wooden floorboards, he hoped his attempt to comfort her weren't as woefully inadequate as it felt.

“It's not been ten years,” she stated, quietly. “It's... it's been sixty. My little boy, he's gone, gone forever. My son's older than me, and the only reason I believe it's really him, is because he looks the spiting image of my Father in Law.”

“But... he's alright, yeah?” Deacon asked, scrabbling for _something_ to help her. “He's not dead, that's something, right?”

“Might as well be.”

It was said with so much venom, that he found himself pulling back and holding his partner at arm's length, so he could study her face. Some tired platitude about her 'not meaning it', sat a the tip of his tongue, but as Deacon looked at her... really looked at her... he knew Charmer meant it one hundred percent.

“Nora. What. Happened?”

Charmer huffed out a bitter laugh. “Shaun... my Shaun... is the enemy. He's the fucking leader of the goddamn Institute,” she grit out, bitterly. “My little boy, who was kidnapped by those bastards, looked me in the eye and told me his father's murder was 'collateral damage'. _He_ had me chasing the promise of my little boy... a little boy who's a synth. I watched as he deactivated the unit, then turned around and asked if I thought I could love the child.” Several fat tears rolled down her pale cheeks, when she paused for breath. “He asked me to join him... them. He wants me to help run the Institute.”

“What are you going to do?” Deacon asked, his heart hammering.

“Go to Diamond City, get Nick and Fluffy then head over to Goodneighbour. I'm going to get black out drunk, and finally take Hancock up on his offer to get high as a kite,” she chuckled, mirthlessly. “Then I'm going to track down some fucking rogue synth the Institute wants me to go after, because apparently synths can be just as twisted as humans, since this one is leading a fucking raider group that's been terrorising trade caravans.”

Deacon released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and simply wrapped his arms back around Charmer's shoulders, pulling her into another tight hug.

“If I thought, for one fucking second, that me joining would actually have a positive impact on the Institute, I'd do it,” she admitted, her cheek pressed to his. “Because they have so much to offer the Commonwealth; the science, the medicine, the bio-engineered crops that would drastically increase the range and availability of fresh produce... just the sheer volume of technology there, that could really benefit my settlements. But I know me joining won't change shit. Nothing at all. Because despite Shaun being the leader, there's a committee of their top scientists to pass everything through. So much bureaucracy it's unreal, and they still fucking abduct people and have slaves, and I just...”

“Have you told Des any of this?”

“No!” she snapped, before looking appalled with herself. “Shit, sorry Dee. You don't serve my bad mood.”

Deacon was about to tell her it didn't matter, that he didn't mind if she lashed out because he understood. But he was stunned into silence as Charmer took one of his hands in hers, and raised it to her lips to press a soft kiss to the freckled skin.

“The only people I trust with the truth are you, Nick and John,” she said, quietly. “I told Des that I found my son... but he isn't coming home.”

There was broken quality to her tone that just shattered Deacon's resolve, and made him pull Charmer impossibly closer, until she was practically straddling his lap. One of his hands buried itself in her short hair, massaging her scalp, whilst the other began to slowly rub circles along her spine. Behind his sunglasses, tears pricked Deacon's own eyes in sympathy, because Charmer was right. Her son was never going to come home, and his heart broke for her.

 


	12. Chapter 12

A cigarette dangled all but forgotten from Nora's fingers, as she sat on the highest roof in Libertalia, and watched the sunset over what used to be Nahant Wharf. She'd shrugged off her Courser coat, and discarded her shades the moment X6 teleported back to the Institute, so the air was cool on her bare arms. She felt a strange mix of sick to her stomach, relieved and numb. She couldn't believe she'd just sent a synth back to the Institute, not that she'd actually intended to do that. However, they'd at least wiped out the raiders that had been running the floating city. Though that knowledge did little to stop Nora's hand from trembling, as she raised her half-burnt cigarette and took a long drag. She tilted her head back to blow the smoke up and away, wishing it was as easy to get rid of her worries. Because despite it all, Nora couldn't fathom how her already messed up life had become even more twisted. But she'd been so lost in her jumbled thoughts, that she didn't even hear anyone join her on the roof, and only realised she wasn't alone when a warm hand settled on her shoulder. Nora glanced up and was met with Deacon's sunglasses, as he handed her a bottle of bourbon.

“Might take the edge off,” he shrugged, sitting down beside her. “So... we got to reclaim ourselves a synth. Desdemona's not going to be thrilled with it. But, hey, we had to sell our cover, right?”

“I was trying to kill him,” Nora admitted, taking a hearty swig of burning alcohol, before setting it off to the side. “I thought I'd have enough time before X6 used the recall code.”

“I know,” Deacon replied, quietly.

“How did this world get so fucked up, that it's kinder to kill someone?” she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder.

The kiss they'd shared before Nora stepped onto the relay hadn't been discussed, but since she'd come back, there had been a drastic increase in physical contact. Nothing overt or obvious, but they both seemed to be seeking the other out almost instinctively. He would sling is arm around her shoulders, or she'd lean against him, and they certainly hugged a lot more than they ever had. Honestly, in the week that Nora had been back, Deacon had barely let her out of his sight, and the only night she hadn't slept in his arms, was the night they'd spent in Goodneighbour; where she'd gotten drunk off her ass and high on Jet in Hancock's private rooms, and fallen asleep on the sofa with her head propped on the mayor's thigh. She'd woken up with a crick in her neck and the hangover from hell, but it had been worth it for the few hours of respite it had brought her.

“Hey, might be a weird time, but I... ah... got you something.”

Nora blinked back to the present, feeling a little sheepish that she'd zoned out. “It's not my birthday.”

“Well, you won't tell me when your birthday is,” Deacon retorted.

“Not like that's ever stopped you before,” she teased, before sobering. “Besides, it not like it's anything worth celebrating any more.”

“There's a lot of people out there... and one right here... that strongly disagree,” he replied, before rummaging in his pack. “But... since I know you'll only try and argue, I'm going to distract you with said gift.”

With that, Deacon produced a small package that had been wrapped in an old Boston Bugle. Nora smiled down at the yellow paper, unable to resist gently squishing the package like she used to do for holiday presents. It had a lot of give to it, which meant it was probably a piece of clothing, which certainly piqued her interest. So wasting no more time at all, Nora quickly freed the material from it's paper confines, and revealed a faded black t-shirt. She held it up, and immediately burst out laughing. Because there in grey writing that was probably once white, was the slogan: HARD WORK IS HAPPY WORK. She shook her head, grinning, before she moved to sit on her knees. No thought went into whipping the Institute t-shirt up and off... where it end up in the murky water several stories below them, when she 'accidentally' tossed it away a little too hard... leaving her in the new black bra one of the Institute's synths had thought to give her, as she shook out her new top, then pulled it on. It fit remarkably well, and had a surprising weight to it, but not uncomfortably so. Nora turned to Deacon, intending on asking if he'd had Tinker Tom put some sort of ballistic coating on the cotton material, only to find him already staring in her direction. Well, it certainly seemed like he was staring from how still he sat, but it was always hard to tell when his gorgeous eyes were hidden by his shades.

“You okay, Dee?” she asked, concerned.

“Yeah? Yeah... oh yeah,” he replied, sounding a little dazed. “You... you look good.”

Nora chuckled, before leaning over to press a light kiss to the corner of his lips. “Thanks. I love it.”

Despite what had happened a week ago, she hadn't expected Deacon's warm hand to quickly cradle her cheek, before he gently pulled her closer. She went willingly, and ended up straddling one of his thighs. With her heart suddenly thumping, Nora reached up and lightly stroked the arms of his sunglasses; a clear request, but not something she'd act on before her partner gave the all-clear. So Nora waited with bated breath for a long, drawn out moment, until Deacon finally gave a small nod. She gave him a soft smile in return, and slowly removed his shades, before taking the chance to look into his electric blue eyes, then leant in to press a feather light kiss to his unresisting lips.

It seemed that was what Deacon had been waiting for... perhaps even all week... because he practically launched himself at her. His mouth was hot and demanding as his tongue warred with hers, passionate and needy. A finger from his unoccupied hand hooked into her belt loop, which he used to tug her closer. Nora chuckled against his lips when she fell into her partner, knocking him off balance, and sending them both sprawling on the metal roof; Nora bracing her hands on his broad shoulders to stop herself accidentally headbutting him.

“I've been waiting all week to do that,” Deacon admitted, grinning up at her.

“What were you waiting for?” she smirked.

“Permission.”

His answer equally caught Nora off guard, and made her melt. Though it probably shouldn't. Deacon was such a good man, even if he lied through his teeth. She knew it was something he'd never believe about himself, but as he looked up at her completely unguarded, like she was the most precious and amazing thing in the world, Nora knew Deacon was worth the risk. So she leant down, resting her forehead against his, before she whispered:

“Well, permission granted. Permanently.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-shirt inspired by one you get in an apparel bunble from the Creation Club


	13. Chapter 13

Deacon's hands shook as he pointed his pistol at Charmer. He'd hated this godforsaken plan the moment Desdemona had briefed them all, and he hated it even more, when his partner had pulled him aside to ask him to shoot her. Of course, Deacon could understand her reasoning, because it would look pretty suspect if she returned to the Institute alone without injuries, but that didn't mean he liked it. And now he was stood on the opposite side of the room from Charmer, Institute and Brotherhood forces laying dead around them... though thankfully very few Railroad agents... Deacon honestly despised the whole thing. Wasn't it bad enough that she was forced to play a double agent? Wasn't it bad enough that she'd been pitted against the son she'd been trying to rescue? Now he was supposed to shoot her!

He was glad that his shades hid the tears that were pricking his eyes, because the last thing he wanted was for Charmer to see how upset he was about it all. She had enough on her plate already, and she'd asked him to do this because she trusted him. Deacon was honoured by that trust, and wanted to show Charmer that he'd do anything to help her, but now his fingers was on the trigger, he felt physically sick. And the fact his partner removed her shades to look up at him, letting him see the surprising affection and obvious trust she had in him, made his hands shake all the more. But no matter how much his heart raced, no matter how devastated he felt about it all, Charmer needed him. So Deacon took a shuddering breath, and quickly aimed for her left bicep. The bullet hit its mark, she grit her teeth through the pain, and he felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. Deacon hated seeing his partner hurting at the best of times, but now that he was the one inflicting it on her, it felt like he couldn't breath.

But Charmer just looked up at him again, determination lining every inch of her stance, as she nodded at him. Barely breathing, Deacon re-aimed, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he shot her thigh. She grunted as she lost her balance, her knees hitting the debris and blood covered floor hard. He watched with his heart hammering, as Charmer hung her head, obviously trying to regain composure, before she suddenly looked up. Her remaining, startling blue eye burned with an inner fire as their gazes locked, and she nodded again. A small noise of protest stuck in the back of Deacon's throat, but he pushed his feelings aside. Charmer needed him, damn the consequences and damn his conscious, so he fired a third time, the bullet sinking into a right shoulder. She gasped in pain, and he could see how her hands shook as she tapped commands into her Pipboy, presumably calling up the relay code. Charmer spared him one last look, mouthing the words 'Thank you', before she disappeared in a flash of blue light, and without a backward glance at his fellow agents, Deacon fled the underground and back out into the smoke filled settlement of Bunker Hill.

* * *

Nora all but collapsed when she re-materialised in the relay room. There were several shouts that greeted her sudden, blood soaked arrival, but she paid them no heed. Her vision swum as she tried to steady herself, and instinctively latched on to the first hand that came into view. She blinked up into the worried face of Z1, though the synth quickly schooled his features as the sound of running steps drew nearer. A moment later, X6 and several doctors hurried into the room. Nora tried to protest when Z1 was muscled out of the way, but she reluctantly had to admit she felt too light-headed to walk, and let X6 sweep her up and carry her to the infirmary. She wasn't there all that long, just a couple of hours whilst they extracted the bullets, administered stimpacks, and gave her a blood transfusion; since one of Deacon's bullets had caught an artery, not that she'd ever tell him that. X6 had surprisingly remained by her side throughout, and even helped Nora to her quarters once she was released.

As she stripped off what was left of her gear, she was incredibly glad she'd opted not to wear the t-shirt Deacon had given her, because she'd have been devastated at having to get rid of it. However, she didn't care in the slightest as she dropped her Courser uniform into the shoot bound for the incinerator, before she stepped into the warm shower. Gently, Nora scrubbed the blood and grim off her body, and inspected the already healed wounds; grateful they wouldn't leave scars for Deacon to beat himself up about. She'd hated asking him to do it, but there was only two other people she would have trusted to fire at her, and neither of them had been privy to the Railroad operation. So she'd turned to her partner in the chaos, and naturally he came through for her... but at what cost? Nora sighed as she rested her forehead against the slick tiles, she needed to find a way to make it up to Deacon, when this shit-show was finally over.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Nora's skin had crawled and her stomach roiled, as she recorded the message for the Institute. It'd made her feel sick, speaking the ridiculous lies they obviously believed, about them being the future of the Commonwealth and Mankind. It brought home just how deluded they really were, that they thought what they were doing... the abductions, the slaves, the terror... was right. It was horrifying and sickening and Nora wanted nothing to do with it. But Z1 had asked her to continue working with Father, to buy the rebellion time, even though it broke her heart every time she had to deal with him. Each time she saw the man's wrinkled face, she couldn't help mourning the baby she'd given birth to, who was now so obviously beyond redemption. It made Nora realise her son had died along with her husband back in the vault, because no amount of blood could ever make her and the leader of the Institute family. But still, she acted her part, putting the skills she'd once utilised as a lawyer to good use; no one there knew how false her practised smile was, or how empty her pleasantries were. The days she was forced to stay underground maintaining her cover were mentally gruelling, and the only respite Nora got was a few minutes in the evening, when Z1 came to 'clean' her rooms.

The synth had become a friend during the several weeks she'd been a double agent, and their nightly conversations had kept her sane. Z1 was no Deacon... or Nick, or Hancock... but he was a good man and easy to get a long with, though Nora still felt guilty when he walked into her room that evening, only to see silent tears rolling down her cheeks. She scrubbed them away with the cuff of her Institute issued jumper, and plastered on a weak smile, but when the synth asked if she was alright, only a weary sigh escaped her. Because Nora was so tired, so worn. She longed for the days of traipsing across the Commonwealth with Deacon, of pouring over case files with Nick, of staying up until the early hours drinking and smoking with Hancock. She wanted to be topside, where she could feel the baking hot sun and feel the harsh breeze. Hell! Nora was even missing being in the middle of a firefight, listening to Deacon snap off witty one-liners. In all honestly, she was utterly done. She wanted the mission to be over, the Institute to be over, her living nightmare to be over. But Nora didn't know how to put any of it into words that wouldn't rattle the synth, so she shut her eyes and let more silent tears fall. The bed dipped beside her, before Z1 slowly coaxed her to let go of the death grip she had on the pristine sheets. Nothing was said between them, but his cool fingers entwined with hers, giving a comforting squeeze. It was enough.

* * *

“That's... that's Charmer,” Tom suddenly shouted, pointing at the radio.

Deacon hurried over like the rest of them, as Carrington turned up the broadcast, though instead of muttering and exchanging looks with the others, his blood ran a little cold. That was not his Charmer. Sure it was her voice, but her tone was twisted and saccharine, as she presumably read aloud whatever the Institute had told her to say. Because Deacon knew his partner, and that wasn't her. His hands clenched into fists as he listened, wishing there was something... anything... he could do to help. Because it had to stop. He knew Charmer well enough to know what this whole situation was doing to her. Hell! He'd been undercover enough times to know how much of a headfuck it was in the best of situations, and this was far from ideal, especially for her. So when the broadcast finished and everyone shuffled away, Deacon followed Desdemona to the war table.

“This has got to end,” he stated, quiet but forcefully. “You need to pull her out. Now.”

Desdemona sighed. “I can understand your concern...”

“Can you? Because if I remember rightly, when Charmer let slip that her _son_ was leading the Institute when we last saw her, all you were bothered about was how she could use it to your advantage,” he snapped.

“Our advantage,” his boss corrected, calmly.

Deacon shook his head. “You're fucking her over, Des, and you know it. No one goes undercover for so long, and no one goes into a situation that could compromise them like that. Those were the rules you and Carrington set up, and you've thrown it all out the window.”

“He's right, Des,” Carrington surprisingly agreed, as he came over to join them. “Charmer should not have been sent in alone.”

“And what was the alternative?” Desdemona asked.

“You're not worried she'd going to be a turncoat, are you?” Glory sneered, before turning to Deacon. “You know she's tough.”

“If anyone can do it, it's Charmer,” Tom agreed.

“I don't doubt that she can do it,” Deacon grit out. “I'm concerned what state she's going to be when it's over, especially when she's not just running this undercover op. You sent her to Ticonderoga, to Bunker Hill. I had to fucking shoot my own partner to make that shit-show fucking believable.”

There was a collective gasp from everyone gathered around the table, and Desdemona at least had the decency to look away as Deacon glared at her.

“Shit!” Glory muttered.

All eyes glanced between Deacon and Desdemona, as the horror of what Charmer was going through sank in. Everyone one of them present, and every single Railroad agent out there, knew the risks. But even long serving members like Deacon and Glory hadn't gone through half the shit that was being piled on Charmer. It wasn't right. She was blatantly being used... by the Railroad as much as the Institute... without regard for her health or well-being, and now all the important players knew it too.

“I know she's the best agent we've got,” Glory continued, slowly. “But you've got to pull her out, Des. HQ only have me and Charmer as Heavies, but if you continuing pushing her like this, you'll only have me left.”

“Regardless of any physical risks these mission pose, the psychological effects should not be overlooked,” Carrington stated, crossing his arms. “So I have to agree with Deacon and Glory, and as your second in command, I'm advising you to pull Charmer out now. Because just from a practical point of view, you can't have an undercover agent acting as a Heavy as well. You'll blow her cover and risk the operation.”

“And her life,” Deacon snarled. “Because there's a damn big difference between doing a dangerous job and being expendable, and I know you're not stupid enough not to realise how all this is coming across.”

“I know my opinion doesn't count for much, but I've got to back up Deacon,” Drummerboy said. “You're spreading her to thin.”

“You're only as strong as your weakest link,” Tom rambled. “Charmer's tough as nails, but even steel has a breaking point.”

They all looked to Desdemona... well, the others looked whilst Deacon glared... but before anything could be said, the door from the catacombs was suddenly thrown open, followed by the sound of boots hurriedly thumping down the uneven brick stairs. Then to Deacon's astonishment, a very harried looking Charmer rushed into view. Her face was flushed, her chest heaving, and she was running towards them so quickly, that Deacon actually had to brace his partner, to stop her running into the war table. However, having Charmer back in his arms didn't bring the welcome relief that he'd been expecting, because she was physically shaking as her shaded eyes stared at Desdemona.

“Brotherhood! The Brotherhood. On their way. Here,” Charmer panted.

“What? What are you talking about?” Des demanded.

“The Institute caught wind of a surprise attack,” she gasped out. “I don't know how long we have. I teleported to the Pickman Gallery and ran all the way here. Didn't want to risk the Institute tracking me.”

“Jesus!” Desdemona muttered, before loudly instructing: “Alright everyone, you know the drill...”

Of course Deacon knew the drill, he'd helped come up with it after the Switchboard after all. But despite time being very much of the essence, that didn't stop him from pulling Charmer into a proper hug, even if it only lasted for a heartbeat. She squeezed him just as tightly, before stepping away, and it looked like she was going to say something, when there was a sudden explosion from the escape tunnel. Deacon shared a fleeting look with his partner, before she took off running, however he was right behind her. Because now that Charmer was back with him, he wasn't letting her out of his sight.

 


	15. Chapter 15

As Nora sprinted out of HQ and towards the catacombs, she skidded in the pools of blood until she crashed to her knees in the 'reception', next to Glory's prone body. She trusted Deacon to have her back, whilst she rummaged in a pocket of her Courser coat for the Stimpacks she'd stashed there, but as she pushed aside their friend's coat to administer the shot, Glory's cold and bloodstained hand settled over the top of hers. Without really thinking, Nora removed her sunglasses to meet the other woman's chocolate eyes, and a lump settled in her throat. They both knew Glory wasn't going to make it. There was too many wounds, too much blood. So Nora stowed the Stimpack before fishing out a syringe of Med-X, and Glory gave her a faint smile as she offered her arm.

“None of them got passed me,” the platinum haired woman gasped. “Damn... that stings...”

“Because you're the biggest badass we've got,” Nora replied, blinking back tears.

“Listen. The Railroad's always sitting on it's hands... ahh... you're the best thing that's ever happened,” Glory stated, gripping her fingers. “Promise me you'll free them. All of them.”

“I promise,” she vowed, squeezing back.

“I know my word's worth jack, but I promise too, Glory,” Deacon said, quietly.

It seemed it was all the woman needed to hear, because her fierce eyes suddenly rolled, before she sagged to the floor. Tears silently rolled down Nora's cheeks, as she stripped off her coat and lay it over their friend. On slightly shaking legs she stood, and unclipped the highly modified Institute pistol that had been strapped to her hip. She'd refrained from using ever since Father had gifted it to her, but somehow it seemed justified now. Because if anyone deserved to be disintegrated, it was these Brotherhood bastards. However, despite the rage and grief Nora felt, she wasn't completely beside herself. She knew she'd just removed most of her armour to drape over Glory, she knew that made her vulnerable. So just in case it was the last chance she ever got, her free hand curled around the neckline of Deacon's armoured t-shirt the moment she turned to him, before dragging him to her. But this was no sweet caress or even passionate dance. Their lips collided desperately, their hold on each other bruising, and Nora was certain it wasn't just her tears that streaked their blood and dust covered faces, as they poured all their unspoken emotion into what could be their last kiss.

Then without a word they pulled apart, and Deacon silently handed her the sunglasses she'd discarded earlier. Nora gave him a tense smile as she slipped them back on, before she turned and ran towards the catacombs. Naturally he wasn't far behind, and she even saw the barrel of his sniper rifle in her peripheral, when he aimed over her shoulder. However, he only got to fire one shot at the Brotherhood knight that came into view, because a moment later Nora was aiming her pistol and all that was left was a glowing pile of ash. She practically felt Deacon's eyes on the back of her skull, but she didn't dare glance behind her, and instead focused on destroying any enemies that was stupid enough to attack them. They made it all the way to the dilapidated church, where Deacon threw a pulse grenade in between the two knights that looked like they were in charge. The EMP shorted out their Power Armour long enough for Nora to fire head shots at each, leaving a large smouldering pile of ash in the nave of the church, before both her and Deacon neutralised the remaining forces that were situated up on the choir balconies. But before they could catch their breath, running footsteps could be heard behind them. Completely in synch with each other, Nora and Deacon whirled to face their would-be attackers, only to catch their trigger fingers at the last moment, when it was Desdemona and Tinker Tom that came into view.

“That's the last of them, and your still standing,” Des stated. “I wish the same could be said for Glory. No time for that, though. The brotherhood underestimated us, badly. Their next attack will be far worse, so we do the unexpected.”

“Take the fight to them?” Nora guessed.

Desdemona nodded. “We eliminate the Brotherhood as a threat. Now. And the key to that is destroying their flying fortress: The Prydwen. Fortunately, we've got a contingency plan for that. We're activating Red Glare.”

Nora looked between Deacon and Tom who were subtly sharing a look behind their leader's back, and assumed the name meant something to them. It seemed to, especially when her partner caught her eye and nodded in a way that seemed to say “I'll tell you later”. It was good enough for her.

“But 'Red Glare' requires a Brotherhood vertibird,” Tom protested.

“Then Charmer will get you one,” Desdemona stated.

Nora couldn't have stopped the disbelieving laugh that escaped her, even if she tried. “Sure, why the fuck not?”

“And for your next trick, why not unify the Commonwealth under one banner?” Deacon grinned.

“Now is not the time...” their leader started.

“Save it, Des,” Nora stated. “As one leader to another, just stop. I'm done with being used. As of now, I'm no longer an agent. I'm working with you as General of the Minutemen. I'll get Tom his vertibird and I'll put the Brotherhood down, because it's for the good of the Commonwealth. I'll go back and deal with the Institute, I'll free the synths, because it's what I promised Glory. But after that, the only thing I'll guarantee is that the synths will always be welcome in my Settlements.”

Nora didn't wait for a reply as she pushed passed Desdemona and stormed out of the church, barely looking as she raised her pistol to the side, and took out a hapless raider that was loitering in the wrong place at the wrong time. She could hear hurried footsteps behind her, and turned; knowing exactly who it would be. However, when Nora opened her mouth to apologise... because she honestly felt shit about laying that out on the table, without even giving her partner a heads up first... it was Deacon's hand that bunched up her t-shirt, before he pulled her to him. Nora could smell the scent of gunpowder and tasted the copper tang of blood, when his tongue swept into her mouth. A small moan caught in the back of her throat and her eyes fluttered closed, as she pressed into him just as insistently. Though as Nora was about to wrap her arms around Deacon's neck, there was an awkward cough, and they quickly broke apart to see Tom awkwardly standing on the church's doorstep.

“So... ah... we need to head to Cambridge Police Station, if that's cool with you?” he said, uncomfortably. “Reports say there's almost always a vertibird parked on its roof.”

“Sure thing Tom,” she replied, offering a small smile. “We'll swing by Goodneighbour for supplies, bed down for the night, then head out at dawn.”

Deacon grinned at her. “Whatever you say, General.”


	16. Chapter 16

There might have been some sort of poetic justice, in standing on the top of the Cambridge Police Station, a whole squadron of Brotherhood dead and the wreckage of one vertibird burning in the courtyard below, whilst Tom tried to jump start a second. But Deacon couldn't see it. His heart was racing at the thought he was soon going to be up in the air, with only the rotating blades of one of those ticking time-bombs, to keep him from making rapid acquaintance with the ground below. He swallowed passed the lump in his throat, and forced his breathing to remain calm, even when Charmer's hand rested on his shoulder. He glanced at her, trying to be subtle as he catalogued the injuries she'd sustained securing the vertibird; thankfully finding nothing major. However the mission was far from over, and whilst Tom was busy tinkering, Deacon supposed it was time they prepared to do what they did best.

“First things first, I picked up some Brotherhood goodies for you. Merry Christmas,” he grinned.

Charmer snorted. “Six months too early, and really... you shouldn't have.”

The way her nose wrinkled at the bright orange flight suit, like it's very existence deeply offended her, was actually rather cute. He almost told her as much... actually, he almost leant in to kiss her nose, but that was beside the point... but he didn't want to push his luck further than it was already stretched. Because so far they were alive, and he really intended to keep it that way. So Deacon dutifully turned his back as Charmer stripped down, unabashed, and he took down a few shambling ferals with his trusty sniper rifle whilst he waited. Without a word, she took his rifle from him, and seeing her sighting down the scope distracted Deacon in a way that was just asking for trouble. Besides, he also knew his partner didn't have experience with snipping, so he quickly changed into his own outfit, before handing her a plasma pistol he'd looted. He almost laughed at her obvious distaste as she holstered the weapon, though he opted for clipping his own plasma rifle to his back instead, then stowed their gear in a duffle bag that he'd swiped when he'd nabbed their disguises. He ushered her towards the vertibird, and let her climb aboard first to be a gentleman, and absolutely not to check out her ass as she hauled herself up, no matter what Charmer's smirk might make you otherwise believe. However, the moment the vertibird took off, the tenuous cool Deacon had been keeping started to shatter; especially when it seemed Desdemona had been a little too generous about Tom's flying abilities.

“We're spinning. _Spinning_!” he yelped, gripping onto the seat for dear life.

Charmer took a step back from the minigun she'd been manning, purposefully letting her boot collide with his, and Deacon knew it was intentional, because she wasn't a clumsy person. So when he cracked open his tightly closed eyes, her sympathetic smile did actually manage to unknot some of the tension he was feeling.

“For a sniper, you're awfully nervous about heights,” Charmer stated, not unkindly.

“It's not the heights I mind, it's the falling,” he replied, completely seriously. “But enough about that, it's final briefing time. You're going to be putting your pre-war lawyer skills to good use, and bullshit our way through the Prydwen, whilst I naturally come with to watch your back. From what I can tell, just swagger and talk to people like they're beneath you, and you should fit right in.”

His partner huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “I spent enough time around the military, Dee. Fooling them will be the easy bit. I'm more bothered about our escape plan.”

“Run like hell,” he grinned. “Tom will keep the motor going, so we can high-tail it as soon as we're back, and the moment we're a safe distance away, we flip the switch.”

“Of course, so utterly foolproof. Why didn't I think of that?” Charmer replied, deadpan.

Deacon leant forward just enough to brush his fingertips along the back of her arm. “We've been through worse situations than this. We'll be fine.”


	17. Chapter 17

“I can't believe we're getting away with this,” Deacon muttered.

“Hush!” Nora whispered. “We still need to reach Tom.”

Honestly, she wasn't sure why she bothered. They could literally see their vertibird from the gangway they were walking down, and she generally agreed with her partner's assessment. It had been too easy. She'd bullshit her way through two encounters with preppy 'Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir.' routines, and a third by bullying her way passed a scribe. She'd have almost felt sorry for the last one, if the entire Brotherhood wasn't a bunch of overcompensating ass-holes, and the Railroad's enemy. However, Nora refused to relax just yet, and even when her and Deacon were safely back on board their vertibird... though safe was a relative term with Tom at the helm... she wouldn't let her guard down. Even as they flew away, Nora gripped the minigun tightly, just in case the Prydwen decided to fire on them and they needed to defend themselves suddenly. However, nothing of note happened at all, until Tinker Tom suddenly yelled:

“Here goes!”

Nora hadn't been quite prepared for the fireball that she saw; that she could _feel_ , despite the distance. Her ears rung, her heart started hammering, she couldn't breath. Her chest felt too tight. She clawed at the neck of the stupid flight-suit she was wearing, desperately trying to loosen the restrictive material, but her hands shook too much to unfasten the poppers. She felt light headed and her legs felt weak. She tried to gasp in a breath, but there was too much heat. She couldn't breath. No matter how quickly she tried to suck in air, she just couldn't fill her lungs. She was choking on the hot air. She felt dizzy, her hands clammy. Her grasp on whatever she was holding slipped, she teetered as black spots started to prick her vision. Distantly, Nora felt two large hands grip her biceps, before she was pulled backwards, colliding against a warm solid mass. Instinctively, she began to struggle, until the hands moved until two strong arms wrapped around her torso, and she was pulled backwards again. She found herself sitting on something warm and firm, with the solid mass still behind her, and dimly realised she was sitting on someone's lap, before she felt something gently touch her ear and she flinched; which prompted the arms to tighten their hold. But instead of restrictive it felt strangely... nice. The gentle thing brushed her ear again, but this time it didn't startle her, and eventually, she thought she could make out words.

“Breath. Just breath.”

The phrase was repeated over and over, whispered so close to her ear, that she could feel the person's lips brush her skin. The voice was low and definitely masculine, but also caring. So she listened to the voice, trying to match her rapid breathing the the tempo of the chest that rose and fell against her back. Slowly, oh so slowly, her breathing gradually returned to normal and she unclenched her fists that she hadn't realise she'd been balling. The vice like grip the arms had on her finally slackened and she took another breath, breathing in the scent of cigarettes and gunpowder; something familiar and comforting. But before Nora could place it, something tickled her cheek, and she reached up to brush whatever it was away, only to find that her fingers came away wet. She'd been crying and hadn't even realised it.

* * *

Deacon started to loosen the grip he had on his partner, the moment it didn't seem like she was going to fall apart if he wasn't holding her. He watched as she wiped the tears of her cheeks, seemingly surprised that she'd been crying, considering the way she frowned at her damp fingers. Then finally, she turned her head to look at him. Ever so slowly, Deacon removed her sunglasses and peered over the top of his, so he could meet her mismatched eyes. The pupil in her good eye was still a little blown, but she was looking at him with recognition, which was the main thing; because he hadn't a clue what he'd have done if she hadn't, and started fighting him again.

“Welcome back,” he said quietly, gently rubbing her arms.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Seems that as well as crypts, you're also scared of explosions,” Deacon replied, awkwardly.

Charmer's frown deepened. “I had another panic attack?”

“What do you mean, another?” he asked, feeling immediately worried.

“I had one when the Prydwen first came into the Commonwealth,” she explained, distractedly, as she started to glance around. “Me and Nick were stood on the roof of Fort Hagen. I'd just killed Kellogg.”

“Shit!”

“Seeing the thing brought back too many memories of the lead up to the war, I guess...” Charmer continued.

“Why didn't you say anything?” he asked, gently. “If I'd known...”

“I wasn't going to let you do this on your own,” she stated, looking at him again. “And it didn't feel like a big deal, after everything else. Besides, I'd walk through hell for you, Dee.”

Deacon swallowed passed an unexpected lump in his throat. “Yeah... yeah, you too. But... ah... I'll try limit the amount of explosions on future missions. Got to look out for you too, right?”

Charmer gave him a fleeting smile. “I appreciate that.”

Not caring that they weren't alone, he leant in to lightly press a kiss to her temple. “Anything for you, remember that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little FYI, I've used my own experience of panic attacks to describe Nora's, rather than look up a medical definition of symptoms. Hopefully, it comes across more relatable that way.


	18. Chapter 18

Everything seemed to happen in a blur after they blew up the Prydwen, because they'd barely caught their breath after that spectacularly successful mission, before Charmer was teleporting back to the Institute. But it didn't end there. Because Deacon had hardly stepped foot in the grounds of Mercer Safehouse, when Tinker Tom yelled that they'd received his partner's signal; and since Charmer was _his_ partner, Deacon was the first person on the newly rebuilt teleportation platform. He barely blinked, before he was opening his eyes to a once sterile white room, that was now splattered with blood and littered with dead bodies. But he paid them little mind, as his focus was captured by the vision in front of him. Because there was Charmer, wearing her combat boots and reinforced jeans, the balisitcally enhanced t-shirt he'd gifted her, with Kellogg's old jacket over it. Her cropped ginger hair was utterly dishevelled, but her reflective sunglasses matched his, and a smirk was curling the corner of her red lips whilst Deliverer was held loosely in her hand. She looked liked everything Deacon had ever dreamed of, and for once he didn't care who saw... after all, she was no longer a Railroad agent... as he marched towards her. Charmer didn't even flinch as his hand curled around the back of her neck. Instead, her free hand gripped the lapel of his padded jacket, and she pulled him towards her as much as he pulled her. Their kiss was brief, just a hard press of lips against each other, but it spoke volumes.

“Don't die,” he instructed her, gruffly.

“Back at you,” she replied, before turning her attention to Des. “Z1's followers are going to rendezvous with us in the atrium. Expect heavy resistance. The sensors will have picked up your arrival.”

Charmer didn't wait for a reply as she turned on her heal and jogged to where a synth stood guard. Deacon presumed he was Z1, and a tight smile tried to tug at his lips, as he watched the way they rested a hand on each other's shoulder, before leading the way deeper into the facility; it was good to know she'd had a friend on the inside. And as always, he followed her dutifully. Actually, he started to follow Charmer before Desdemona had even given the order, and not for the first time, Deacon realised he was fucked. There was a reason why you didn't get close to people in the Railroad, but as he fired shots almost over his partner's shoulder, he realised that after this mission, he wouldn't be going back. Of course, he'd never stop helping synths, but he was Charmer's man now, not the Railroad's; if she'd have him. Though all thoughts of the future were shoved to the back of his mind as they reached the atrium, because just as Charmer had promised, the Institute was waiting for them in force. But so were the resistance. However, even with the reinforcements, the battle was brutal. By the end, Charmer had a lazer burn across her cheek, Deacon had a few across his arms that had burnt his coat, and several agents and synths were in need of medical attention. But there wasn't a single enemy left standing, which was a small victory, even if it was short lived. The door they needed to go through was locked tight, and it felt like a lead weight settled in Deacon's gut, the moment Charmer said she knew exactly where the override was.

Without even thinking, he chased after her as she sprinted up one of the winding staircases. He took two at a time as he tried to catch up, though her boots were always just disappearing from view. He blew a harsh breath through his nose when he finally reached her, but the moment Deacon reached the room he'd seen Charmer disappear into, he heard voices above him. Ever so slowly, he crept through the deserted room and paused at the foot of a short staircase; readying himself to rush to his partner's aid if needed. But the conversation gave him pause as he silently listened in, and it only took a few seconds for Deacon to realise the deep voice that was talking to Charmer was the leader of the Institute... her son. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, trying to decide if he should go and back up her up, or if this was something she wanted to deal with alone. But the moment he heard an unexpected gunshot, Deacon was running up the stairs before he'd even thought to move. He hadn't prepared himself for the view that greeted him. Charmer was slowly lowering the .44 pistol that had once been Kellogg's, whilst Deliverer remained holstered on her thigh. Her already porcelain complexion was deathly pale, and her full lips were pressed into a thin line, as she regarded the man who'd once been her son. The man she'd shot dead whilst he lay in bed. Deacon took a step towards her, hoping to do _something_ to help comfort her, but she tilted her head ever so slightly in his direction, stopping him in his tracks.

“Did you catch the password?” she asked, her voice deceptively neutral.

Deacon nodded. “Yeah.”

“Issue a facility wide evac after you've unlocked the door. There's children down here,” Charmer stated.

“Sure thing, General,” he replied, understanding completely.

As quickly as he could, Deacon followed her direction, and looked back up just in time to see her gently closing her son's eyes. And although he couldn't see her mismatched gaze, his partner still managed to look devastated; it was in her downturned lips and the tenseness in her shoulders. He knew their mission was time critical, even with the leader of the Institute dead, but this was Charmer and she'd just lost her son... again. So despite being up against the clock, Deacon spared a few crucial seconds pulling her into a tight but brief hug. She squeezed him back, before holstering her .44 in favour of drawing Deliverer.

“Best get moving,” she said, offering him a strained smile.

He gave her his best shit-eating-grin, that always made her chuckle. “Right behind you, partner. ”


	19. Chapter 19

Nora's heart felt like it was in her throat, when she looked down at the little boy who'd flung his arms around her legs and called her 'mom'. It was the same child she'd so adamantly believed was Shaun, whilst she'd waded through Kellogg's memories. She felt a little sick, and her hands hesitated, hovering over the boy's shoulders. Nora could feel Deacon's shaded eyes burning a hole in the back of her head, and caught Tom and Desdemona's looks of concern out the corner of her eye, when when the boy stated:

“Father told me to find you, mom. He'd said you'd look after me now that he couldn't.”

Her heart was hammering, and in a snap decision, Nora took a risk and knelt in front of the boy. He didn't seem to be armed, there was certainly nothing in his hands and the Institute jumpsuit he wore didn't have pockets for him to hide anything. For all intents and purposes, the synth in front of her was just a scared little boy who'd been programmed to think she was his mother. At that realisation, Nora choked on a sob as tears pricked her eyes. Suddenly, it made perfect sense why Shaun had asked if she thought she could love the synthetic child. The boy in front of her was a prototype, which Nora had already knew, but she'd never imagined that her son had developed the boy for her. So many thoughts whirled in her head, wondering if Shaun had started the project before or after he'd released her from the vault, wondering if discovering he was dying was what prompted him to create the synth. But Nora supposed it didn't matter what his reasons were, and no matter what she'd felt about her biological son, she could see this was a gift. Though what was more important, was this scared little boy believed she was his mother and trusted her to get him to safety.

“See that man there?” she asked, pointing to Tom. “He's a good friend of mine. I need to finish the mission I'm on, but he'll take you somewhere safe, and I'll meet you there as soon as I'm done. Is that okay?”

“You promise you're going to come for me?” the boy asked, trembling.

Without even thinking, Nora cupped his face. “Did father ever tell you where I've been?”

The child nodded, sniffling. “He said you got separated from me when I was little, that some bad people had locked you up, but you started looking for me the moment you got free.”

“Then you know I'll always find you,” she told him, offering him a watery smile. “No matter what, I'll always come back to you.”

The little synth threw his arms around her neck. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too... Shaun,” Nora said, swallowing thickly. “Now you stay close to Tom, and I'll see you soon.”

“It's all set to take you, Deacon and Des to the detonation site,” Tinker Tom stated, glancing at her. “Then I'll rig it to send me and the kid here back to HQ right after.”

Nora clapped his shoulder in thanks, the moment she was on her feet. “I owe you one. Will you ask Carrington to give him a check up if he's got time?”

“Don't worry, we'll look after him,” he assured, grinning. “Get him some better clothes too... yikes!”

She only paused long enough to ruffle the young synth's hair affectionately, before she sprinted to the teleporter with Deacon and Desdemona. The Railroad leader offered her a tight lipped smile, but her partner's face was an unreadable mask, which made a wave of panic ripple through her; she hadn't even thought of the implications of what taking the boy would mean for her and Deacon. Once again, Nora's heart began to race and tears threatened to prick her eyes, as she realised she might have just thrown away her chance of happiness with the man she adored, for a child who she didn't know and hadn't been hers until a few minutes ago. But after a shuddering breath, Nora squared her shoulders, only dimly listening to Tom's countdown. She'd made her decision. And as much as she wanted Deacon, the little boy needed her. If that ended any potential romance with her partner... or perhaps even their existing friendship... so be it. She was a mother, and her child had to come first; synthetic or human.

But then Deacon's fingers ever so slightly brushed down the back of her arm, subtle and unnoticeable from the way their bodies were angled. His fingers caressed her palm, feather light, until his little finger tightly curled around hers. Nora squeezed back, and the vice around her heart loosened, just as the blue light of the transporter washed over them.


	20. Chapter 20

Deacon's hand gripped Charmer's, the moment they re-materialised at the detonation site. He couldn't begin to imagine what she was going through; first shooting her bed bound son to give him a merciful death, only to then have a child synth run up to her, programmed to think she was his mother. He honestly didn't know what to make of that, torn between thinking that bastard had done it to fuck with his mother's mind one last time... after all, her son was the one who'd had her running across the Commonwealth trying to find him... and wondering if perhaps there had been some sort of good left in the man, and that he'd sent the synth as a way for Charmer to get back what had been stolen from her. Deacon shook his head and squeezed his partner's hand, because if his mind was messed up, hers must be goop. But he couldn't even ask her how she was doing, because Desdemona was suddenly trying to pull Charmer away from him, wanting her to push the detonator. He supposed she must have thought it was some sort of honour, or maybe that it would give Charmer a sense of closure, but Deacon knew differently.

“Why not let Z1 do the honours?” he interrupted, curling his arm around his partner's shoulders.

Charmer nodded, as she stepped closer to him. “I agree.”

“Are you sure?” the synth asked.

Desdemona just frowned at them.

“Definitely,” Charmer assured. “Though give me a second to get inside...”

She didn't even wait to hear an affirmative, before slipping under Deacon's arm and hurrying towards the building. Desdemona gave him a pointed look, but he just shrugged. It wasn't his secret to tell. Thankfully, Z1 quickly distracted her... which Deacon suspected was on purposed... so he took the opportunity to quickly follow Charmer inside. It took him a good minute to find her, though Deacon supposed it would have taken longer, if she hadn't suddenly yelped when a loud explosion signalled the end of the Institute. However, it was no time for celebrating, not when he found himself confronted with a trembling partner, who'd jammed herself between the wall and a battered filing cabinet, in a back office. Deacon picked his way over the broken desk and scattered stationary that littered the floor, before kicking enough debris away that he could sit cross-legged in front of her. His heart hurt at the sight of Charmer; with her forehead resting on her drawn up knees, and her hands clamped tightly over her ears. She was physically shaking, but Deacon counted it as a win that her breaths deep and measured, instead of the hyperventilating that he'd expected. So carefully, he eased his partner's hands away from her head, and slowly coaxed her to shuffle forward enough for him to pull her into his lap. Charmer went willingly, though hid her face against his chest, but not before Deacon caught a glimpsed the tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Not many people get to be here, living history as it's written,” he whispered into her hair. “For the first time possibly ever, the Commonwealth's got a blank page to write. Thanks to you.”

“Thanks to us,” she said, sniffling quietly.

“Okay... yeah... we did that,” Deacon conceded. “Institute's gone, synths saved, and we're both alive. So what's the encore, Charmer?”

“Have any ideas?” she asked, her lips brushing his throat distractingly.

“Start our own band. 'Saviours of the Commonwealth'. Always wanted groupies,” he chuckled.

Charmer gave a non-committal hum, though wrapped her arms around his waist.

Deacon pressed a kiss to her unruly hair. “Some dusty old philosopher thought people were made of metal, that it defined their character. If it's true, then you my friend, are solid gold.”

“Pretty to look at but no longer worth much?” she said, still not looking at him.

The end of her sentence lilted up like a question, and Deacon really hoped she was just being deadpan. Because to him, Charmer was the most precious thing in the Commonwealth, if not the whole world. She was _everything_ to him, and now that the Institute was gone, Deacon hoped he might get the chance to show her. But for now, he simply held her tighter.

“You're irreplaceable, Nora,” he whispered in her ear, before stating louder: “Let's go kick some ass.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Nora eased the door of Hancock's room closed, leaving Shaun sleeping inside. When she'd gone to retrieve the boy from the Railroad headquarters, she had no clue about where to take him. Diamond City, Sanctuary, and even the Castle were high on her list of potential places, but she just couldn't decide. The first had Nick and Piper, the second had Sturges and Cogsworth, and the that latter had Preston. Nora knew that they'd all look after the Shaun, in the inevitable event that she had to leave on Minutemen business, though she didn't know her son well enough to know where he'd be happiest. That realisation had made her sick, so she'd turned to Hancock for advice, which inevitably brought her and Shaun to Goodneighbour. The place hadn't even remotely been on her list of potential places to settle, but the boys eyes had lit up as they stepped through the gates. Daisy had doted on him, KLEO had willingly answered all his questions, and Hancock had ushered them up to his suite, insisting they stayed with him as long as they wanted. Of course Nora had tried to insist that they'd at least rent a room at the Rexford, but Hancock wouldn't hear of it; setting her up in a guest room, whilst letting Shaun and their dog make use of his bed. She'd spent several hours just chatting to Hancock, trying to figure out her next steps, until he'd slunk off to the Third Rail with a twinkle in his eye, and Nora knew that Magnolia was in for one hell of a night. So she'd tucked herself into the corner of the sofa, intending to read the book that Daisy had leant her, until one of Hancock's men came in. Or at least she'd thought it was one of the mayor's men, with his tan suit and trilby, until she looked up at noticed the sunglasses.

“Deacon?!”

Her partner had left them at them back at the Railroad headquarters, stating that he had something he needed to take care of. His evasiveness had worried her, but since Shaun was with her, Nora's focus had been on her son. Still, Deacon's departure had left a lead weight in her stomach, that Hancock noticed immediately. So she'd confided in her friend... after she'd finished recounting everything else... voicing her concern that having Shaun meant the weight of her 'baggage' was too much for Deacon. However, the mayor had insisted that he'd be back and his absolutely certainty had eventually rubbed off on Nora, but even with her new optimism, she hadn't expected to see her partner so soon. She was torn between rushing over and throwing her arms around his neck, and keeping her cool. Undecided, she settled for marking her page and closing the book, before moving to stand. It seemed like that was all Deacon was waiting for, because he practically stormed over the moment Nora was on her feet, and dragged her to him. His lips were hot and insistent as they pressed to hers, and when his tongue coaxed hers into a dance, she could taste a faint hint of whiskey. However, she knew Deacon wasn't drunk; he hated the feeling of not being in control. So Nora let herself melt into his hungry kisses, though gave as good as she got. She managed to rid him of his hat and jacket whilst Deacon pushed her duster off her shoulders, and now it pooled about their feet. Nora had just let her hands wandered to his tie, when he surprised her by deftly picking her up, prompting her to wrap her legs instinctively around his waist.

“Room?” he mumbled, against her lips.

It was the first thing he'd said since arriving, but Nora didn't hesitate to wave him in the right direction. After all, Deacon was a lying bastard who was only a hundred percent honest when he was silent, so she didn't mind that his skilled mouth was being put to better uses, and the door to her room was opened and kicked closed with the same fervour that Deacon had shown when he'd first closed the distance between them; they didn't even bother to lock it before he dropped her on the sheet covered mattress. Grinning, Nora reached for his tie again, using it to drag Deacon down to her. He knelt between her legs, holding himself above her on slightly trembling arms as she removed the tie and unbuttoned his once-white shirt. For a moment, she let her gaze wander over the toned expanse of his torso, her fingers quickly following, blazing a path over taught muscles and the silvery scars he'd gained courtesy of the Augusta Deathclaw. Nora traced the now healed claw marks, remembering the fear she'd felt thinking she was going to lose him. Some of what she was thinking must have shown on her face, because when Deacon leant down to capture her lips once again, his kiss was sweet and lingering; nothing at all like the burning passion that had engulfed them previously. Nora didn't mind the change and she smiled at him softly, as they gently removed the rest of each other's clothes, the occasional low moan the only thing to disturb the comfortable silence between them.

His large hands were warm as they caressed her body, his fingertips teasing a path over her breasts, down her stomach and around her hips, before he reached the apex of her thighs. He paused there, and if it had been anyone else, Nora would have accused them of teasing. But she watched with rapt attention as Deacon finally removed his sunglasses, and let them drop onto the pile of discarded clothing. Her breath hitched at the sight of his startlingly blue eyes, his look practically adoring as he smiled down at her. Unable to help herself, Nora reached up to cradle his face before she pulled him down into a lingering kiss. She gasped against his lips as he suddenly caressed her most sensitive bundle of nerves, and her legs widened instinctively to give him better access. Deacon responded to her silent invitation by slowly stroking along her opening, before he easily slid a finger inside and curled his digit, hitting the _exact_ spot inside her that made her toes curl. Nora hummed her approval, her arms snaking around his neck to keep him close, as his thumb began to circle her whilst a second finger joined the first inside her core. Deacon's pace was slow and sedate, almost calming, though she soon found a familiar warmth pooling in her. It would be so easy to let him push her over the edge, but with so many unspoken feelings between them, Nora wanted... needed... to have all of him; whether or not she found her release.

So she gently caught his wrist, whilst her other hand smoothed away the small frown Deacon regarded her with. She gave him a reassuring smile as she guided him to lay on his back, before she deftly settled herself over him. His hands moved to her hips, his thumbs drawing circles against her skin, before Nora ground down against the length of him. The low groan he gave was positively delicious, so she repeated the action, dragging out another moan before she ever so slowly sank down onto his length. A small, satisfied sigh escaped her at the sensation, though feeling a little wicked, Nora squeezed her inner muscles, making Deacon buck up into her. She giggled softly as she leant forward to brace her hands against his broad shoulder, before she slowly rotated her hips in a way that she hoped would drive him crazy. She wasn't disappointed. Deacon cursed just under his breath, his fingers flexing against her skin as she repeated the move.

“You're killing me,” he whispered, brokenly.

Smirking, Nora took that as her cue to move in earnest, and rocked her hips forward; making them both moan simultaneously. He felt amazing, and whilst she could have happily chased her own release in this position, she was more bothered about her partner's pleasure. So Nora leant forward with her forearms either side of his head, resting her forehead against Deacon's so she could gaze into his clear blue eyes as she started a steady rhythm. His hands wandered down her back until he cupped her rear, pulling her up with each roll of her hips, until he planted his feet on the mattress to give himself something to push against as he thrust up into her. Nora gasped at the slight change in angle, one that had him hitting _that_ spot inside her, and whilst their pace never changed, there was more power behind each time Deacon hilted inside her. Each thrust made it harder and harder to keep their gaze locked, and Nora was just fighting the urge to shut her eyes thanks to a particularly wonderful thrust, when Deacon groaned her name.

The sound was accompanied by him pushing her up and off his length, forcing her to hurriedly brace her hands against the wall, as his release splattered his toned stomach. Nora debated for a moment, deciding she should probably unstraddle Deacon's chest, so she could find her own release, though before she could move, his warm hands squeezed her thighs. She gazed down to find him grinning up at her, seemingly wanting to make sure she was looking, before he shimmied downwards until Nora was holding herself on shaking legs above his face. A wave of apprehension began to creep up her spine... she felt more than a little exposed... until Deacon _winked_ at her. Then without wasting another moment, he tugged Nora down with a firm grip on her thighs, until his tongue flicked against her most sensitive bundle of nerves. She gasped at the sensation, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the flaking wall as Deacon unexpectedly pushed her over the edge. He coaxed her through the aftershocks, gently lapping at her until she was steady enough to clamber off him.

Without any finesse, Nora flopped down beside him, though had enough of her wits about her to blindly grope for her t-shirt so he could clean himself up. And once he'd dropped the soiled top back to the floor, Deacon slung his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Nora wasn't sure why, but she was almost surprised he was a cuddler, though that didn't stop her from snuggling closer. For several moments, she just listened to his steadily slowing heartbeat, until thoughts began to creep into her mind; wondering what this would mean for them, especially now that she'd left the Railroad. She was just about to ask, when there was a timid knock at the door. Nora sat bolt upright, knowing exactly who it was, and from the startled look Deacon shot her, he knew as well. She called out to Shaun to give her a moment, before she scrambled off the mattress, and rummaged through her backpack until she found a clean tank top. Nora pulled it on, before quickly shimmying into her jeans, and barely had time to give Deacon an apologetic smile, before she rushed barefoot out of the door. She hadn't a clue if he'd still be there by the time she got Shaun back in bed, but as she crouched down beside her bleary-eyed son, Nora supposed it didn't really matter. Her primary concern was the boy, so the beating her heart would take if Deacon disappeared wasn't important. And just as that thought crossed her mind, Nora faintly heard the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut. Nora refused to turn her head, knowing she wouldn't be able to fake being okay if she had to watch him leave. But then Shaun suddenly sat up straighter, obviously looking up at someone, and her heart began to race at the implication. She hadn't expected Deacon to follow her.

“You're dating Mom, right?” the boy asked, bluntly. “Uncle John said he wasn't the only one that looked after her, when I asked. He said she had someone special.”

Nora blinked at her son in surprise, silently debating whether she should wring Hancock's neck, before she slowly turned to glance at a stunned looking Deacon. He stood there, with his shirt untuck from his slacks and his sunglasses shockingly absent, as he rubbed the back of his bald head; clearly uncomfortable. Deacon gave Nora a weighted look that spoke volumes, and she quickly realised that he was looking to her for confirmation. She knew what she wanted, so gave him a small nod; it was up to him to decide if they were more than partners... or ex-partners, Nora supposed.

“Yeah,” Deacon croaked out, stepping closer. “Yeah, I'm dating your Mom. We used to work together too.”

“Why don't you now?” Shaun queried.

“Because I found you,” Nora replied, quietly. As she took hold of her son's hands. “Which Dee helped me do.”

The young synth nodded, before suddenly saying: “So you're my Dad now?”

Startled, Nora whipped back around to look at Deacon, who looked a like a radstag caught in floodlights. Her heart pounded, and she barely resisted the silly urge to hold her breath as she waited for his answer along with her son. The seconds seemed to stretch for hours as she watched Deacon swallow thickly, before he slowly came to kneel beside them both, and surprisingly gathered their joint hands in his. His gorgeous blue eyes darted to her for a heartbeat, before he turned his full attention to Shaun; he looked the most serious that she'd ever seen him.

“If that's what you both want...,” Deacon stated, before turning to Nora. “The reason I couldn't come with you straight away... I told Des I quit. So I'm here for the long haul, if you'll have me.”

Tears pricked Nora's eyes as she swallowed passed the lump in her throat, and not trusting her voice, she gave an enthusiastic nod. Shaun suddenly laughed before throwing his arms around both their necks, prompting Nora to wrap her arms around his and her partner's waists in reply. After a split second of hesitation, Deacon's grin matched her... _their_... son's, as he hugged them back tightly. Nora breathed out a shuddering breath, and something inside her finally unclenched. For the first time since stumbling out of the vault, there wasn't a reason to fear the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who gave their time to read my work. I really appreciate it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Thank you so very much, I hope to 'see' you again.


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